Hold
by Ariadne of Troy
Summary: After the fall of the Dark Lord, Draco Malfoy retreats to the Muggle world to atone for his crimes. Hermione Granger finds herself in his way. Rated M for adult themes and later chapters. [ON HIATUS]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hi, everyone! First fic, not quite sure where I'm going with this yet, so I would appreciate reviews and thoughts. Now then, let's play shall we? ;)

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me save for the plot.

 **Chapter 1**

 _In which Draco recounts his truths._

In the years following the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Lucius Malfoy had held on to the three great truths he had learned throughout the entire ordeal that had been his teenage years.

First, that despite everything that he had done, he still believed himself to be a good person (and thus good things were due him after the shit he'd survived) and would repent by doing nothing but good when given the chance. This he had repeated like a mantra as he squeezed his eyes tight and held onto his mother's hand with a vice grip as they stood trial before the Wizengamot.

Second, that he would take his fate into his own hands—regardless of the consequences. He, Draco Malfoy, swore on his mother's grave that never again would he allow himself to be a pawn in someone else's game. His future was his and his alone. This he swore the first time he had been refused service at The Three Broomsticks—a jarring event, as it had painfully driven home the gravity of his actions and the resonating consequences of the mark on his arm.

Last but definitely not the least, that despite how divisive and destructive the House ties were, he would learn to tread the middle ground between their most admirable traits. He would learn to be wise and cunning like the Ravenclaws, nurturing and kind like the Hufflepuffs and, for all their ostentatious displays of emotion and reckless behavior, he would be more like Gryffindors—he would be brave. A trait, he realized, that he had been sorely, if humiliatingly, lacking.

This was the resolve he held on to the entire year back at Hogwarts after the Dark Lord had fallen, really his 8th year back in its hallowed halls, to retake everything he had missed during his 7th. It had been a full year of house arrest before he was allowed back. A year that he had spent watching his mother slowly slip away now that she was sure he was safe and she could let go. A year avoiding all visitors and courtesy calls, a year without his wand, a year praying that an owl wouldn't arrive saying that his father had broken out of Azkaban and was making his way back to the Manor. A year of feeling so trapped in his own skin that he had retreated to the library and spent the remaining months in silence, teaching himself to harness his powers without a wand and learning about other, older magic.

It was all easier said than done, he knew. He thanked Merlin and whatever deities were watching over him that at least he had gone back to school after the Golden Trio had graduated, leaving him in relative peace to take his N.E.W.T.S.

He knew that Hogwarts had never truly been home for him, especially now that it held so many unpleasant memories. Between the new ghosts that ensured he never got a moment's peace and the glares and taunts he would get from the younger students, returning to Hogwarts was, to him, penance. So he watched from the sidelines, collecting good habits and measuring memories. He couldn't blame the other students for their cruelty—he had been no different at that age. Most of them had been too young to fight and had only heard stories of those dark years, and he silently blessed them, only slightly jealous that their graduating year was spent worrying about girls and grades rather than a homicidal madman slaughtering his friends and family.

After his graduation ceremony, he had apparated to his mother's grave to lay a bouquet of stargazers. He sat at the tombstone until the sun set, whereupon he snapped his wand in half and planted the pieces along with a new Elder Tree before saying goodbye. He returned to the Manor, the paperwork already settled and the house elves set free, to pack his trunk by hand. With a final walk through each room of the vast estate, he cast the last of the wards, sealed every door, and locked the gate behind him as he left.

The Manor, he knew, had no place in his future. Neither did magic.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Already had this written up and saw no reason to delay! Please review, its like salve to my soul.

 **Chapter 2**

 _In which we try to catch up with Hermione._

Hermione Granger, all things considered, now led a pretty full and satisfying life. After the Dark Lord fell, she, along with Ron and the other survivors (war heroes, really) had gone back to Hogwarts to help repair the damage that the battle had caused. They left the Ministry, now under the leadership of Kingsley Shacklebolt, to the responsibility of rounding up the last of the Death Eaters and conducting their trials.

News traveled fast with the aid of magic, and she learned that Fenrir Greyback had been taken down in an altercation somewhere off the coast of Ireland, along with Rodolphous Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband. Lucius Malfoy, along with the rest of Voldemort's inner circle, had been sent away to Azkaban to serve multiple life sentences. She never found out what had happened to most of the Slytherins and the other students who had fought on the wrong side, simply because she couldn't be bothered. There were a million and one things to do before the summer ended and their 8th year began, and she was greatly looking forward to being a normal student again.

Normal, however, wasn't in the cards for Hermione Jean Granger—especially as a member of the Golden Trio.

Between the gossip, the responsibility of being a figurehead for the new regime and the consequent attention that came with it, Hermione had more on her plate than she had ever expected. The one thing she was thankful for was that the events had enlightened her regarding the actual path she wanted to take in life, which was to be a diplomat for Magic and Muggle relations.

She threw herself into the role after graduation, attending to matters both local and foreign in the hopes of building a better world by banishing prejudice against Muggles and Muggle-borns. For four straight years, it had felt like Hermione had barely looked up from the galas, dinners, meetings and mountains of paperwork, only stopping to attend Harry and Ginny's wedding, to celebrate Harry's graduation from the Ministry's Auror program and to congratulate Ron for his acceptance into the Chudley Cannons.

Sunday brunches at the Burrow were still kept sacred, a way to keep each other's spirits up despite the painful losses that they had endured. At Ginny and Molly's urging, Hermione had gone on a few dates throughout the years, and she and Ron had reached an amicable split following their attempt at being something more than friends in the glory days after the War. They were both going down very different paths in life, and she had been grateful that they had at least tried. Regret was not a road that Hermione ever wanted to venture down, especially after staring death in the face on countless ocassions.

Now, as she leaned into her couch and nursed a mug of tea in her hands, she took a deep breath and looked around her flat in Muggle London, with its floor to ceiling windows and sparse décor. It had been the first week in a very long time that the office was quiet enough for her to head home early and cook herself dinner—a sign, she told herself, that things were looking up and all of their efforts were finally taking root in Britain's Wizarding society. _So much_ , she mused. So much had happened between then and now. Her seventeen year old self would be proud of who she had grown up to be, the things she had accomplished. She knew in her heart that the parents she had obliviated would share the sentiment. There was nothing for it now except to keep her eyes forward, on the future.

 _The future._

She recalled the days spent hiding in the tent, moving every few days to stay safe. Those dark times in the company of a horcrux had almost killed her faith that there would even be one to look forward to.

She let out the breath that she hadn't realized she was holding for the last four years. Hermione hadn't realized that she had been weeping unrestrainedly into her mug, the tears mixing with the bitter green tea. Biting back the choking sobs that were crawling at her throat, she wiped the tears away violently with the frayed sleeve of her jumper. She'd had enough crying to last her a lifetime. It wouldn't do justice to the memory of everything and everyone she had lost to sit there and mourn.

Settling the mug down on the round, wooden coffee table, she disentangled herself from the blankets and made for her home office. Surely, there was still a lot of work to be done.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _In which we have strange encounters._

With a whoosh and swirl of emerald green, Hermione flooed into the lobby of the Vietnam Ministry of Magic, there for her meeting with the Head of the Department of Magical Beings. She checked her watch, a gift from her parents for her 16th birthday that she had charmed to work despite the magic in the air. It had automatically adjusted to the time difference, and assured her that she had time to spare. She checked into the lobby and ordered a coffee (rather, a delicious café su dua) from the commissary, settling down into the waiting area of her intended Department to go over her notes.

There had been suspicious magical activity in one of the towns to the north of Ho Chi Minh City, which was where the country's Ministry was located, and scout reports had come back with exceptionally high readings from the area. None of their diagnostic tests could pinpoint exactly where, who or what the fluctuations were coming from. The Department Head suspected an unregistered wizard was practicing magic (for it was common in the provinces for wizards to refuse to send their children to school), but Hermione personally suspected that someone had discovered an old magical artifact without knowing what it was. In either case, Hermione was needed for her expertise on the matter, especially if it would strain relations in a community as underground as theirs was.

She shared her thoughts with the Head during their brief meeting, and requested permission to go out and investigate for herself. Much as she had turned down Harry's offer to accompany her (professionally, of course), she politely declined the Head's offer to have a local Auror tag along. It went unspoken that her experience in the Second Great Wizarding War proved her more than capable of handling herself, regardless of which continent she was on. Vietnam's French colonial history notwithstanding, it was one of the South East Asian nations whose magical community was similar to Britain's—that is, carrying the same penchant for old world aristocracy and romantic, if not outdated, customs.

Permission to investigate was granted, papers were signed, and Hermione retreated to her hotel to rest for the evening before heading out north. She had no other choice but to travel the muggle way, as the floo networks were few and far between in that area and apparating in unfamiliar territory was simply a bad idea. Hermione secretly relished the chance to be a muggle again—if only until she reached her destination.

After lounging a bit, she decided not to give in to the time difference and headed out for the afternoon, intent on spending a few hours as, well, not Hermione Granger.

* * *

A bell sounded almost mutely as she pushed her way into a small café, almost imperceptible from the outside. A few patrons glanced up at her from their small tables before returning to their drinks, not finding anything about her to comment on. It was a relief (and a slight blow to the ego) that no one recognized her, so Hermione settled herself into a nook at the far end of the room, giving her a good view of the door and the bar.

Some habits were difficult to shake.

A waitress approached her, handing her a laminated sheet that held the café's modest offerings. She ordered a banh mi sandwich and an iced tea, shedding the light jacket she had been wearing to better enjoy the air conditioning. Damned if it wasn't hot in the Pacific. She was about to dig her book out of her purse when the waitress asked,

"Will that be all, miss?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she subconsciously tilted her head to the side, as she often did when perplexed. She had been expecting the waitress to carry the same accent as everyone else she had encountered—not a European one. The woman was young, maybe in her early 20s like her, but with people of Asian descent it was always hard to tell. She had long, wavy black hair down to the middle of her back, tanned skin and, surprisingly, bright green eyes.

"You're from Britain," It came out as a statement, not a question.

The waitress' pixie face broke into a wide smile, as if about to share a secret. "No, actually, sorry." The lilt was gone from her voice to be replaced by one irrefutably American. "I'm actually from the States, so technically not from around here either. One sec," She scribbled Hermione's order on a scrap of paper, passed it off behind the counter and returned. "May I?"

Curiosity having gotten the best of her, Hermione gestured towards the chair graciously, signaling that the girl could take a seat.

She lowered herself into the wooden chair and leaned forward, continuing, "This isn't exactly that most exciting place to work a day job, so I pick up people's accents and mirror them back at 'em to see if they'll react. It's amazing how something as simple as shared origins can make someone either clam up or share their stories. Usually I'm wrong—tourists are difficult to read within the first few minutes, but I'm glad this time I was right." She flashed Hermione another wide smile, and Hermione felt herself warm to the girl instantly.

"So it's a game?"

"You could call it that."

"You must be good at reading people."

The girl shrugged. "Not as good as I think I am." Another smile. "Name's Francesca, but people call me Franny, like the J.D. Salinger book."

Hermione took the proffered hand and shook it. "I'm Hermione." She sounded it out of habit.

"Daughter of Helen and Menelaus. Always felt bad for that girl—such horrible taste in men."

Hermione laughed. "I agree, actually. The war wasn't all about her, but it just seemed a poor excuse to launch one."

"Tell me about it, but you know men." She smiled conspirationally before adding, "They can move mountains when given the right motivation." She stood abruptly and returned with Hermione's sandwich and drink. Settling back into the chair, she took a sip from the glass of water she had brought for herself. "So, Hermione of myth, what brings you to this side of the world? Business or pleasure?"

Hermione took a small bite of her sandwich, allowing herself a few seconds to enjoy the flavors exploding in her mouth before taking a demure swallow and clearing her throat. It was also an excuse for some time to think of an answer. "A little of both, actually. Was stuck behind my desk for months before this—needed to get out. I'm not staying long in the city. I'm actually leaving town tomorrow morning."

"Is this your first time here?"

"I've been in Hanoi before for work, but we barely left the Mi—the hotel we were meeting at. So yes, I suppose it is my first time in Ho Chi Minh." For the first time in a long time, Hermione was suddenly filled with excitement at the idea of being in a brand new place.

Franny's face seemed to reflect her sentiments. "Then I absolutely must take you out to see the town tonight!" She checked the time on her watch. "I'm off in half an hour. Would you like to go and have an adventure?"

Hermione made a catalogue of the things she had to accomplish before setting off in the morning—a list that was surprisingly short. Sure, she could make up any number of reasons to do unnecessary work or curl up in her hotel room to read a bit of fiction, but something about Franny's choice of words had struck her. Adventure. Now that was something she hadn't seen hide nor hair of in years. While she had never been the kind of Gryffindor who rushed into things headlong, preferring a well-thought out plan to "winging it" as her best friends did, the idea of making a muggle acquaintance and the endless possibilities of being in a strange new place was, at that moment, ridiculously alluring. It wasn't as though she never took nights off from work—on the contrary, she just never took nights off from being Hermione Granger. Any hedge witch and wizard in Britain knew exactly who she was, and on most days the responsibility of filling in her own shoes seemed daunting even to her.

She snapped herself out of her thoughts and found herself looking straight into Franny's hopeful green eyes—eyes that held the promise of a little fun and excitement.

Before Hermione could stop herself, the words "Sure, I'd love that" had come out of her mouth and the girl across from her gave a little clap of accomplishment.

"Cool, I'll get back to work for a bit. Enjoy your sandwich!"

And so Hermione spent the next 30 minutes finishing her light meal and sipping her tea, getting lost in the world of David Nicholls—a reading choice that, she figured, would make her feel very muggle indeed.

Seven in the evening rolled around, and Hermione finally looked up from her book and looked around the café as she stretched. The place was more packed than it had been earlier, filling the small hole-in-the-wall café with the pleasant buzz of conversation and glasses tinkling. Hermione relaxed, almost slouching into her chair, glad that she had made such a harmless albeit rushed decision to spend the evening with a total stranger.

Franny walked over to her, having discarded the black apron that she had worn over her jeans and shirt. "Well, miss 'Mione," She winked; her British lilt was back. "Are you ready to go?"

Hermione laughed and tucked her book back into her bag, pulling out her wallet and carefully counting out the Vietnamese bills. "Ready as I'll ever be." she replied, passing her payment off to Franny's shift replacement.

Franny once again checked the time on her wristwatch. "My friend is meeting us here—I was thinking we could walk through Ben Thanh before grabbing a couple of beers there and pre-gaming before heading to a bar? Most other places will be closed by now." She shrugged, leaving her opinion of that in the air. "Did you have anything in mind? Like, did you need to go souvenir shopping or want to see anything specific?"

Hermione stood up and hitched the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. "No, not really. It's really not like me to go and travel without an itinerary, but this is the only free evening I had and I was informed of the trip on short notice so I wasn't able to do as much research on the city as I had planned. Did y— "

She stopped rambling when she realized that Franny had her head tilted to the side, watching her curiously. Hermione blushed.

"I—I'm sorry. Talking fast. Bad habit." What a lame explanation, she berated herself. She sounded like an over-excited first year, especially next to this calm and collected girl who looked barely out of her teens.

The odd look in Franny's eyes disappeared. "You sound like Dan—my friend that's meeting us. He doesn't so much as leave the house without his day planned out and—" She was interrupted by a motor grumbling outside, distinguishable even above the din of the café and the noise of the bustling street outside. "Speaking of the devil." She turned and looked at the door with such hopeful and excited anticipation that Hermione also found herself looking forward to meeting this friend of hers. If someone like Franny could be that excited to see their friend, she figured, then she would be in good company that evening.

She lifted her eyes from watching Franny and moved them to the front door. She bell chimed and a very tall man walked into the room. He was wearing a pair of mud-caked trainers, grey jeans and a black v-neck shirt that did his form nothing but favors. The man pulled off his motorcycle visor off his head, revealing a mop of dark brown hair that curled around his ears, a tanned face and…wait. Those storm grey eyes. Hermione would know those eyes anywhere, especially having been on the receiving end of their ire for years back at school.

Having removed his helmet, the man's eyes narrowed as they moved around the room, looking for his friend. They finally settled on Franny, who was smirking at him, and Hermione had to grab the back of her chair to keep from keeling over at the sight. Was he actually smiling? Was that actual warmth in those mercurial eyes?

Hermione had to press the back of her clammy hand against her forehead, just to make sure this wasn't a fever dream. Before she could say anything to Franny, the man in question was already across the room, leaning forward and giving Hermione's new-found friend a kiss on each cheek.

"Am I late? The kids wouldn't let me leave. Ryu's developing quite the deathgrip—I had to swear up and down that I would take them out for ice cream this weekend just to get him to let go."

Franny laughed, a hand on his chest. Hermione watched, dumbstruck. She was touching him. That meant this was real. But then, the real him would never allow himself to be touched in public…right?

Before Hermione could gather enough of her wits to decide to disapparate out of a clearly impossible situation, Franny had started talking and Hermione was listening to her as if she were on the other end of a tunnel and slowly gaining speed towards her.

"He's smart, that one."

"Is that what we're calling 'manipulative' these days?"

Franny ignored him. "And you're too soft on them."

Soft? Hermione almost let out a snort of disbelief. She squeezed her eyes shut. _This can't be real, this isn't happening._

"Anyway, I've made a new friend today, and we're taking her out to dinner."

Hermione's eyes flew open.

"Dan, meet Hermione. Hermione, this is Daniel."

If the man in front of her recognized her, then he did a damned good job of not showing it. His face was blank for a second before giving her a small, polite smile and offering her his hand. Dazed, Hermione took it, unable to shake the befuddlement from her features. Surely, this was some joke.

"Pleased to meet you." He said. It wasn't a punchline. _I guess not_ , she thought wryly.

Franny looked at him oddly, her eyebrows furrowed in a silent question. Hermione could relate—there were a million running through her own mind a mile a minute, all eluding her grasp, leaving her unable to form a coherent thought.

"Do you two know each other?" Franny asked, cutting through the tension in Hermione's body like a hot knife through butter.

The man's eyes darkened as Hermione opened her mouth.

"You…you're Draco Malfoy."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi, everyone! Okay, so we're finally getting to the good parts. Hopefully chapters will be longer from here on out, just so we can get everybody where we want them ;) Again, would appreciate reviews immensely :) Cheers!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _In which we break the ice._

When Draco had gotten up at precisely 5:23 that morning, he was sure that it was going to be a stellar Tuesday. He had woken up to the sound of Franny's light snoring somewhere around his middle, a thin cotton sheet tangled around her frame, the edge of which was dangling on his left hipbone. The sun was barely starting its crest into the summer sky, sending soft oranges and iridescent blues through the stained glass windows of their bedroom.

He took a moment to drink in the sight of his girlfriend's tanned skin soaking up the dawn's light, the bright lines of the tattoos that ran up her back almost glowing. His fingers traced the lines of her curvy hips, arm and shoulder, and not for the first time, he thanked his lucky stars that she was his. Ever since the day he met her in that alley in New York, he had known that he was in trouble—barely six months into his self-imposed exile into the muggle world, he hadn't realized then just how much the unassuming brunette now sharing his bed would change his life.

He smiled down at her tangled mess of hair before nudging her in the shoulder. "Cesca. Love. Time to get up."

Forever a light sleeper, Franny moaned and twisted so that she could look at him, her face resting on the back of her hand, her green eyes still bleary from sleep. "So what. It's Saturday. We can sleep in."

He chuckled, and he knew that she had enjoyed the reverb of the sound through his body by the way she closed her eyes again and smiled. "It's Tuesday, you crazy bint."

"I don't know what that means, mister Englishman, so I'm going to ignore it and pretend you were professing your undying devotion instead," she murmured, burying her face into his toned stomach.

Draco smiled and reached down to push her hair off her face. "I could worship at your altar in other ways instead," he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively as he cupped her tiny face in his hand, tracing his thumb over her cheekbone.

"Mmmm," she purred, adjusting her position on the bed and taking the blanket with her. She swung her leg over him and straddled his stomach, making her face level with his six foot frame. She dipped down and nestled into the back of his ear with her nose. "I love it when you talk dirty to me in the morning."

He traced the tips of his fingers up her calves and thighs before resting on her hips, tracing absent-minded circles into them before moving onto her naked bum. "There's nothing like your morning breath, love. It's such a turn on."

She laughed and sat up, swatting him playfully on the chest. "Such romance, D. Catch me before I swoon!" She took a deep breath and blew it into his face.

Digging his fingers into her arse, he growled and sat up to try to bite her nose. "Seductress! Don't start things you can't finish!"

She laughed again, the sound music to his ears. Not that she would ever hear him say it on any occasion other than her birthday, but he was over the moon for her. If it were possible, he loved her even more as she gracefully moved down his body so her sex was rubbing against his provocatively. She looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and smirked. "Now, who said I was ever one to leave you wanting?" She punctuated each word by grinding into his hips.

Draco moaned and moved his hands up her back, burrowing his face into her and cupping the curve of her neck with his lips. "What's that Oasis song you were singing in the shower yesterday?"

"What's the story, morning glory?" She mumbled, nibbling on his earlobe.

"That's the one," he whispered, moving to her lips and kissing her slowly. The heat was coming off of them in waves. "Care to wake me up properly?"

Franny laughed and playfully bit at the pulse point on his neck, dragging her nails down his sculpted chest, making him draw his breath in with a hiss. His member was now pushing against her cunt, well past the point of morning wood. His hands moved to her bare chest, cupping her breasts and teasing her nipples into submission. She leaned back and he dipped his head down to take one into his mouth, pulling and teasing the way he knew would drive her mad. She groaned, reaching behind her and taking him into her hand, stroking as she lifted her bum so that her lower lips teased the tip of him.

He pushed his face further into his chest, taking most of her breast into his mouth while his other hand continued its ministrations on the other. "Ces," he breathed, his voice gruff and heavy with desire.

Her other hand still working its magic on him, she reached up with the other to run a hand through his brown locks. Grabbing a fistful at the back, she pulled his head back so that it was tilted up at her. She kissed him slowly, teasing his lips with her tongue.

He dipped his hand into the space between them, rubbing his palm against her lips. He smirked against her kiss upon realizing how wet she already was before digging two fingers into her, using the base of his hand to rub against her clit.

"Mother of f—" She moaned, tossing her head back.

"Thata girl, come undone for me." he whispered, his fingers unrelenting.

She looked down at him, looking for all the world like a Seelie Queen granting her favor upon a favored subject. In the barely-there dawn light, her lover's skin looked luminescent, the planes of his regal face lit up with desire and the molten silver of his gaze enough to make her cum on the spot. Done with foreplay, she used her hand to guide him into her, lowering herself slowly onto his member inch by inch. She bit her lip, her pussy stretching to allow his girth into her, still sore from their rounds the night prior.

As a reward, he groaned low in his throat, losing himself in the sensation of filling her up and completing himself in return. Pressed down to the hilt of him, something Draco could swear no other woman had ever accomplished, he had to force himself to think of football scores and plays to keep from unraveling. She used her now-free hands to gently push his shoulders back so that he was lying on their pillows, and she balanced herself on her knees and she rode him slowly at first, picking up speed as the pressure in her muscles began to build. He gripped her hips, guiding her and helping her keep rhythm, watching her every movement hungrily. He clenched his muscles so that he moved while inside her, and she whimpered as he hit the back of her.

"Come, Ces. I want to feel you come on me."

Her fingertips rested on his chest as if to steady herself, and she reached the other hand up to her breast as she fondled it. "Oh, Jesus Christ, D. Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed and every other deity that's listening." He could feel her tightening around him, knew that she was close. "Oh, God. I love you. I love you. Fuck!"

She crumpled, nails digging into his chest as she spasmed on top of him, her orgasm leaving her undone. Draco growled and flipped her over without pulling out, and in one smooth motion had her leg hooked over an arm to give him better leverage. He pulled out almost to the tip before crashing into her again, sending her into another wave of pleasure. She bit her lip and looked up at him from behind her lashes.

He took her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard, making her gasp. He ground his hips into hers as he buried himself in her. Her muscles clenched around him, and he knew that he didn't have much longer. He pulled out quickly, scooping an arm behind her and flipping her over. He grabbed a fistful of her hair as she arched her back so that her bum met his member, biting at her neck as he pushed his way between her legs to enter her again. She moaned, the sound seeming to reverberate off the walls and into his bones, driving all thought from his brain. "Fuck, D. You're going to—ahh! You're going to make me c-come again," she stammered, barely holding up against the onslaught of pleasure that this position afforded her.

He chuckled, his grip on her hair tightening. "I want you to scream my name when you come again."

She shifted her weight to her knees and stretched her body so that her head was resting on his shoulder. His hands moved to her breasts as he shivered in pleasure. "I'm yours," she whispered, knowing it was exactly what wound send him over the edge. "I'm yours, now and always. I'm not going anywhere. It's just you and me, D. You, me, and the fucking magic that your cock works on this body. Now come for me. Come inside me and ruin me for all other men."

He pushed her back down on the pillows, onto which she collapsed with a graceless flop, groaning again as he dug his fingers into her hips to keep her steady as he thrust into her. A few strokes later he shuddered and expelled his seed into her womb, riding the explosion of pleasure with a few more thrusts until her pussy had taken every last drop. Done, he pulled out gently and lowered himself onto the bed next to her, panting.

Franny turned to her side, letting the sticky mess drip down her thigh. She nuzzled into his open arm and left a trail of feather-light kisses on his jawline as she traced her fingertips over his stomach and chest, wiping the thin sheen of sweat on his brow.

"How was that for morning glory?" She smirked.

"Merlin, woman. The things you do to me," he sighed, tightening the arm around her so that her naked form was pressed flush against his side. Draco closed his eyes, reveling in the post-coital bliss. He felt her sigh contentedly against his chest, her warm breath teasing his own highly sensitive nipple, and she hooked a leg over his.

"D?"

"Ces?"

She propped herself up on an elbow and smiled at him sweetly.

"Uh-oh. I know that look."

Her face broke into a grin. "Does this mean you're cooking breakfast?"

He laughed and grabbed the pillow behind his head to slam into her face before disentangling himself from her body and slipping into a pair of track pants that hung dangerously sexy on his hips. "You're incorrigible. Most days I feel like your slave instead of your boyfriend. You're only using me for my body and my cooking, aren't you, woman?"

Franny took the pillow and put it under her head as she folded both arms behind her, stretching like a cat. She was looking at the ceiling but side-eyed his half-naked form appreciatively as he crossed their small apartment to the kitchen. "And I'm supposed to believe that you're with me for my incredible conversation and home making skills?"

Unhooking a pan from the overhead rack and taking a few eggs from the fridge, he looked up at her from behind the counter with an eyebrow raised. "Was there ever any doubt in your mind?" he joked.

She rolled her eyes at him, a smile dancing on her lips, before climbing out of their bed and making for the shower. By the time she was done, he had cheese omelets and toast waiting on their wooden coffee table, along with two glasses of Vietnamese coffee steeping. Angus and Julia Stone was softly playing from their restored record player. He was indian-seated on the rug, his glasses perched on his nose and the morning paper laid out in front of him.

Franny paused on her short walk over to him, her hand to her chest to finger her crystal necklace. The morning light was soft on his handsome features, making him look far younger than his twenty-three years, and in the afterglow of their morning romp, he looked relaxed and disheveled. A young man without a care in the world and she, the woman of his affections. If they weren't the very picture of domestic bliss, she didn't know what was. Her brow furrowed, suddenly catching herself wondering how they had gone from the darkness of the last three years to this little piece of paradise, and what this quiet and peace would cost them in the long run.

As if reading her thoughts, which he might have been, her boyfriend looked up at her, his eyes searching. "Francesca?"

She shuddered involuntarily, suddenly panicked. She crossed quickly over to him, sitting on a floor cushion and giving him a bruising kiss. She took his hand in hers and held on tightly. He looked at her tentatively, returning the pressure she was putting into his hand. She knew she was making him worry, so she shook her head and gave him a small smile.

"Will you give Abby and Ryu a gift for me when you head over to the orphanage today?"

He tilted his head to the side, trying to read her. "Is that what's got your knickers in a bunch all of a sudden? Worrying about the kids?"

She rolled her eyes and released his hand to tuck into her breakfast. "Gods, I swear, that mouth of yours is worse than mine. I'd hate to find out what you sound like to people you aren't having sex with."

He cleared his throat and fixed her with an icy stare despite himself. "I'll have you know I consider it making love. But if you want to degrade our actions, then consider it filed away for future reference."

She ignored him, pouring condensed milk into her coffee.

A few seconds later, his hand was rubbing her thigh. "Ces?"

She grunted, staring blankly as the contents lightened.

"Francesca." He said more sternly. "Did you see somethi—?"

She cut him off by placing her hand over his. His fingers were starting to dig into her knee in worry, and she gave him a reassuring smile that everything was okay. "No, I didn't. Just got a feeling about today." She chewed on her lower lip at the confession. "But I'm sure it's just because I got a good night's sleep. No nightmares. You know how I am."

He leaned over and rested his forehead on hers. "The other shoe isn't going to drop, love."

She exhaled a shaky breath, every fiber of her being willing her heart into believing him. "I love you, D."

He murmured something unintelligible and squeezed her hand. "Finish up, you'll be late."

Half an hour later, they were in the garage of their apartment complex and Draco was giving her a kiss goodbye as she clasped her helmet on and mounted her Vespa, a Christmas present from him that she had yet to wonder how he had been able to afford. He watched her melt into the busy traffic and ran a hand through his hair, mentally reassuring himself that she was just being overly anxious. Shrugging off his worries, he went back to their apartment to get ready for a day of classes and work at the orphanage.

That morning had seemed like a lifetime ago, and the last thing Draco had expected when he went to meet Franny at the café was running into bloody Hermione Know-it-All Granger, subject of his nightmares, the personification of his wartime guilt. He swore that time had stopped for a full minute as he took her in, the woman before him a complete 180 from the girl he'd last seen at the Battle of Hogwarts.

It had been tense, to say the least, and Draco thanked his Slytherin upbringing for having gotten out of it smoothly enough.

"You…you're Draco Malfoy."

Insufferable sodding bint. He shook the anger from his face before adopting a carefully crafted one of confusion and concern. "I'm sorry, who?" he had replied. He absently wondered why his own voice sounded so far away.

Granger had shaken her head, and he was secretly glad to see that she had cut her hair to shoulder-length to minimize the ridiculous bushy nightmare that it had been at Hogwarts. "I… I'm sorry. You just really look like someone I went to school with."

Hiding his rising panic, he had wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans and tried to give her a smile. "Ah, well, I get that a lot. Got one of those faces, I guess."

Two sets of eyebrows raised. Franny shot him a quizzical look. "No, you don't." She laughed at the ridiculousness of the statement. "You've literally never gotten that before."

He shrugged, trying to keep from shooting her a glare to keep her quiet.

Franny shook her head and shot him another dubious look. "Okay, well, you go and be shady. I have to duck back home because someone forgot to leave Chuck his dinner." She looked at him pointedly before turning a bright smile on Hermione. "Dan can take you to Ben Thanh. We live really nearby, so I'll only be about fifteen minutes behind you guys. D, do you mind letting Hermione ride with you?"

Before Draco could open his mouth to retort that the witch was Franny's responsibility, the girl had turned around, her helmet tucked under her arm and waving at them behind her.

Mortified and promising himself that he would come up with an adequate punishment for her later (ideally one that involved numerous orgasm denials), Draco slowly turned to his girlfriend's newest pet project.

Granger was still looking at him suspiciously.

He scratched the back of his head, hoping he conveyed nervousness rather than plotting. Before he could say anything, Granger had grabbed his left arm and ran her hand over it, whispering " _Finite Incantatem_." It didn't matter that he had gotten a full sleeve of muggle tattoos done over it, the instant she whispered it, the glamour that he had put over his mark dissipated and revealed it, condemning him. He jerked it back as if electrocuted.

Granger gaped at him.

"Merlin's beard, Granger." He couldn't help it—he sneered at her from down his nose, reverting back to the person he had worked so hard to abolish over the last few years. "Shut your trap, you look une poisson rouge out of water." His worst fears realized, he hadn't realized that he was switching from one language to another—something he only did when nervous and scared. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing around the busy café to see if anyone had caught the act.

Granger seemed to have found her voice at last. "I… I _knew_ it! It is you!"

He slammed his and over her mouth and pulled her almost bodily towards the door. Once out in the busy street, she shoved his hand off her and placed her hands on her hips. "Don't you dare touch me, Malfoy!" she screeched, her face flushed.

Draco didn't miss the movement towards the wand he was sure she had concealed. He had to swallow the urge to be nasty as it bubbled up his throat as he tried to grab her arm and lead her to the alley next to the café, having decided for the path of least bloody trouble with Franny. "Look, Granger, just calm down. I can explain."

She jerked her arm away from his, looking at him like she was a piece of filth that had gotten stuck and ruined her shoes. "Don't touch me, Malfoy! Aren't you scared you'll get tainted by my Mudblood self?"

The words were cruel, and Draco winced. He had been dreading this moment for years, but he wasn't in the least prepared for it, especially coming from the Gryffindor Princess. It figured that the second he let his guard down, something like this would happen and threaten to destroy everything he had worked to build.

He raised both hands as if in surrender, his mind working fast to decide what he was going to do or say next. He looked around him, checking to see if someone would hear, so he leaned in close and tried to grab her arm again with the intention of pulling towards somewhere more secluded. "I don't give a flying fig about your blood, Granger. I'm over that." He hissed, hoping against hope that she would believe him. "I left the wizarding world for a reason, and I would appreciate it if you didn't breathe a word of it to Francesca."

The other woman's hazel eyes narrowed. "You left for a girl?" she said incredulously.

"No!" He almost yelled at her. A few pedestrians paused and threw curious glances their way.

Granger, looking like she was finally aware of their surroundings, threw him a panicked look.

Draco ran a hand over his face, willing himself to stay calm. _Bloody, fucken hell._ And it had started off as such a good day. "No," he repeated, his tone modulated. "She has nothing to do with it. I left because there was nothing for me there."

She tilted her head at him, calculating.

"Oh come off it. I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears." He pinched his thigh through his jeans. _Cruel, Draco, reign it in._ He tried to switch tact, imploring to her softer side. "Look, I snapped my wand in half, left everything where it lay and I would appreciate it-"

Grangers eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline.

"-if you didn't tell anyone where I am or that you even saw me." He continued, his fists clenched at his side.

Granger's hands fell off her hips but her shoulders remained tense. "I have no reason to believe you, Malfoy."

"Don't call me that," he all but snapped at her. "I know you don't, and I'm not asking you to. Just…just don't breathe a word of it to Francesca and we can get through tonight without you hexing an unarmed wizard." _As if not having a wand matters_ , Draco thought wryly. _But she doesn't need to know that._

Hermione let out a long breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stem the immense headache she felt was coming on. "So I'm just supposed to believe that Draco Malfoy, pureblood prat and reformed Death Eater, left the wizarding world, snapped his own wand in half, and disappeared into the Muggle world?" Her own statement sounded incredulous even to her own ears.

Draco grimaced, but he decided not to react to her insults. "You try working through decades of conditioning and see where that leaves you." He said, venom in his tone.

"If you had really disappeared, people would have heard about it. I-"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you really think it outside of my power to keep myself out of the papers? Every reporter worth their weight in galleons knows better than to pursue any story regarding me…or my family." The last bit escaped as though it pained him.

Hermione sighed again, the doubt still evident on her face. "This is impossible." She mumbled to herself.

Draco couldn't fight the sneer that took over his face. "You should know better than anyone what the war did to us. We were _children_ , Granger. I did horrible things that no person should go through before the age of seventeen. Both sides lost that battle. So if I decided to shrug off an existence that would have left me ostracized from society and miserable til the end of my days, is it really so far-fetched to imagine that I would try to start a new one with the comfort of anonymity and have a shot at leading my own life instead of it leading me?"

He knew he had her there when her brown eyes softened and her frustrated expression turned into one of confusion. But he didn't want her pity.

"So if you could just be a good little Gryff and pretend to be as clueless as your idiot friends, we might actually have a decent evening. Francesca seems to have taken a liking to you, Merlin only knows why, and I would hate to disappoint her."

In a blink, Hermione's distaste was once again evident. "You're such a sodding prat, Malfoy. Shove off."

"Glad to see how much you've matured over the years."

She shot him a condescending glare. "And you haven't changed at all," she spat.

Draco took a deep breath and counted to three, trying to keep his mind off all the horrible things he wanted to do to her. "Look, Granger. What's dinner and a few drinks? No one knows who we are, and we can pretend we don't either." He seemed to study her for a bit, his jaw locked, before adding, "Please," through gritted teeth.

And that was how Hermione Granger found herself on the back of Draco Malfoy's cafe racer, wearing his spare helmet with her hands on his shoulders as they sped through the glittering lights of Ho Chi Minh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 _In which the plot thickens._

Hermione tried to pinpoint the exact moment when her life had gone terribly wrong. Not one to blow her own horn, but one would think that sacrificing your childhood for the whole of Wizardkind and actively working her early 20s away to reform the recovering society would at least merit _not_ having the universe throw her through loops like this.

And what a loop it was. If someone had told her at fifteen that she would be nursing a _muggle_ beer in a makeshift canteen next to the Ben Thanh market with none other than former (or was it reformed?) Death Eater and pureblood supremacist Draco sodding Malfoy and his _muggle_ girlfriend—a moment for that to sink in, if you please, Hermione reminded herself—she would have snorted quite distastefully in that person's face.

It wasn't that she didn't think people could change—quite the contrary. She had sat through dinners and press junkets with former Slytherins, Pansy Parkinson foremost now that she was editor of the Daily Prophet, and realized that she quite enjoyed their company. Hermione had long grown out of silly childhood rivalries and had actually come to appreciate, if not embrace, certain Slytherin qualities—especially ones that were oh-so-vital to her role as, she supposed, a politician and diplomat of sorts.

She nodded, only half listening as Franny regaled them with the story of how a charming drunk had mistaken the coffee shop for a loo earlier that day, wondering absently what choice words Pansy would have for her former beau as he sat beside the muggle girl, an arm casually draped across the back of her chair, laughing at Franny's animated storytelling.

Hermione fixed her studious gaze on the wizard, noting all of the major and minor changes in the man she had previously (?) loathed. He wore his hair quite like Bill Weasley, she noted, down to his shoulders and tied off with a strip of leather. Despite the dark muggle jeans and the casual v-neck shirt, he still carried himself with an air of aristocracy, his shoulders squared and his chin held high, his laugh throaty and genuine—causing an uncomfortable pressure in Hermione's sternum. His left arm was adorned with muggle tattoos, and with mild surprised she realized that the animals on his sleeve counted a lion, a badger, an eagle and a serpent, along with what she could safely assume were a dragon and a phoenix dancing together, wrapped around his upper arm.

 _Curiouser and curioser,_ Hermione thought, taking a deep swig of her second beer, noticing the way his shirt stretched over his well-built chest and the way the sleeves pulled from his biceps.

Draco caught her staring and raised an eyebrow at her, a smirk playing at his lips. Blushing, Hermione polished off her beer, and Franny spun around to the waiter to order another one for her.

Hermione had to stifle a groan. At this rate, she would be too drunk to make it to her assignment in the morning. Merlin knew she was already plastered enough to be admiring Malfoy's physique. But she couldn't begrudge the muggle girl her hospitality. All things considered, the earlier tension between her and Draco had all but evaporated the second they had sat down and ordered drinks, and Hermione realized that she actually quite enjoyed their company.

Hermione Granger, war heroine, enjoying the company of Draco Malfoy, war criminal. _The irony_ , she grimaced.

She had to admit, the man sitting across from her was a far cry from the scared, scrawny teenager she had last encountered. If anything, his self-imposed exile had seemed to do him good. He was no longer pasty, his skin having tanned under the Pacific sun, and the dark brown his hair was dyed surprisingly suited him, causing his molten-silver eyes to stand out even more in his handsome face, which had also filled in quite well, having adopted smiles that made his eyes crinkle at the edges rather than the sneers that only served as manifestations of his cruelty. He was relaxed and his magical aura was light, if not anxious at the edges every time he regarded her. With a strange pang Hermione wondered just how much of this impossible task, that is, reforming the angry, broken Slytherin, was the muggle girl's doing.

All Hermione had wanted earlier that day (had it only been a day? That morning seemed a lifetime ago) was to take a break from being her, and she pleasantly realized that she had gotten it. For however much Draco was a part of a very painful period of her history, he didn't sneer when she answered a question with a lengthy explanation, and he didn't throw her any barbs when she acted, as her friends so aptly put it, so _Hermione-y_. She felt, despite herself, strangely at ease around the couple who regarded her with zero expectations, and she let out the very long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding since the coffee shop.

The three of them had fallen into a comfortable silence, with Hermione fingering her napkin lost in thought, Draco absently twirling a curl of Franny's hair, and Franny leaning on her palm, watching the crowd around them.

"As pleasant as this all is, are we going to address the elephant at the table?"

Draco and Hermione's head snapped to the younger girl.

She waved her hand at them. "Oh, please. After that majorly awkward scene earlier, both of you should really give me more credit. I've just been biding my time." She popped a sticky rice ball into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. When the pair of them exchanged nervous glances, she shrugged and turned to the empty seat next to Hermione, pretending to talk to an imaginary person.

"Fine, I'll talk to you then, elephant, because these two are being ridiculous. So we all know that this one's name isn't really Daniel-"

Draco groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"-and okay, maybe only the three of us know that only other magic people know him by Draco," and she winked at the empty seat conspirationally.

Hermione's jaw fell open. She rounded on Draco with a glare. "She knows about you…she knows about _us_? But you begged me not to say a word of it to her!"

Franny's face lit up with triumph! "Aha! See, elephant, the plot thickens!" She poked Draco in the ribs, causing him to grimace. "Us, she says!" She turned to Hermione, her green eyes alight with mischief. "Are you an ex-girlfriend?"

"Oh gods, no!"

"Merlin, no, Fran!"

Hermione and Draco exchanged glances of mutual understanding at their violent denials, Draco nodding in apology to the witch.

 _Thank Merlin and Morgana for alcohol_ , Hermione thought as she took a deep swig from her bottle, considering her next words carefully. "What… what do you know, exactly? And no, _you_ be quiet," she hissed at the wizard. "I clearly still can't trust you with the truth." She threw Draco what she could only hope was a very serious glare despite the alcohol swimming in her system.

Franny leaned forward, her voice low. "I know he's a wizard, so I'm assuming that makes you a witch. He's been introducing himself as Daniel since New York, and we've never really met anyone who's called him by his real name. Which, by the by, I only found out by accident."

"Accident?" Hermione pressed, ignoring Draco as he muttered about 'everything falling apart' and 'crazy sodding muggle bint'.

"Found him in an alleyway, beat up and bloody." Franny explained, taking Draco's hand and rubbing the back of it with her thumb, giving him an apologetic look at telling the witch the truth. "Overheard the redhead pummeling him call him Draco Malfoy."

At Hermione's raised eyebrow, Draco stopped rubbing his face and leaned back into his chair, looking resigned. "I ran into Katie Bell and George Weasley," he mumbled in explanation. "Suffice to say, my apology was not well-received."

Distantly, Hermione recalled the couple heading off to the States for talks of opening a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shop on the East Coast, and she nodded, the timeline falling in place. She wondered why neither had mentioned the encounter, then brushed it off realizing that it didn't exactly count as a Sunday brunch conversation topic. It was an unspoken rule at The Burrow that no one talk about the war—for everyone's sake. She nodded at Franny, encouraging her to continue.

Looking relieved that Draco hadn't pulled his hand away, Franny continued. "We became sort of friends after that. A couple of months after moving in, he explained things, explained magic, I guess. Explained the reason for the nightmares and mess he was." She gave Hermione an searching look. "Which side were you on?"

Draco smiled sadly. Was that admiration in his eyes? "Granger was on the side of the Light. Brightest witch of our age. They wouldn't have managed without her," he said quietly.

Blushing, Hermione cast her eyes down and stared at her lap. Well, that was unexpected praise of the highest order.

"Malf-Draco wasn't far behind me in school. Then again, he had… distractions towards the end," she offered kindly.

Draco grimaced. "Miss Granger here was a member of the Golden Trio, and I, poor sodding bastard that I was, hated them in school. Prancing about, practically untouchable. It was enough to make anyone hate them." There was no venom in his tone and a smile played on his lips, and Hermione laughed.

"Hated was an understatement. He once spelled me so my teeth grew past my chin."

Draco gave a short bark of laughter. "Hey, you punched me in the nose."

Hermione tossed her wadded up napkin at him, where it bounced quite pathetically off his chest. "You deserved it, you prat."

"That I did." He smiled warmly at her. "You know, I am sorry." His clear grey eyes had gone dark as he regarded her seriously. To Hermione's surprise, he reached across the table and took her hand in his, her fingertips soft against his calloused ones. "For everything."

Shocked, Hermione gaped at him for a few seconds before returning the pressure in his hold. "Forgiven, forgotten." She met his eyes with her own chocolate brown ones. "Everything we sacrificed would mean nothing if we couldn't do away with the lines that divided us in the first place. Besides." She released his hand and smiled at Franny. "Looks like you're past all that pureblood nonsense."

Draco nodded and tossed Franny a wink. "That I am."

Franny, who had been watching them with rapt attention, leaned back and took a sip of her beer. "I get the feeling I'm missing some things here. Are you sure you guys didn't date at some point?" she laughed.

Hermione shook her head violently and immediately regretted it as her head swam. "What part of 'he hated me in school' didn't you catch?"

"I didn't _hate_ you, Granger. I just hated that you beat me in every class. Well, except potions." Draco corrected.

"Excuse me, I beat you in that, too." She smirked.

Franny polished off her drink and called for the bill. "Well, we should celebrate all these love and truth bombs." She tossed an apologetic glance at the empty chair. "I'm sorry, elephant, you'll have to find other people to hang out with tonight." Turning to the two, she grinned. "What's say we move this little lovefest over to The Court?"

Draco took the bill from the attendant and tossed a few bills on the table. "The Court?" He regarded Hermione with a calculating look. "I dunno if that will be Granger's scene, Ces."

Franny stood, signaling for Hermione to get up as well. "Don't be silly. I'm sure Hermione's in the mood to dance. We are, after all, celebrating. Right, Mai?"

At the casual use of her childhood nickname, Hermione paused. No one had called her that since her parents, and she took a steadying breath. Flashing the girl a smile, she said, "Tonight's already in my top three strangest of all time. I suppose going dancing wouldn't seem out of place."

Franny and Hermione hailed a cab because Draco refused to leave his café racer parked at the market ("It's _vintage_ , Fran!"). With a promise to meet them there, the two girls got dropped off at what looked like a half-built building reminiscent of an old muggle courthouse on the outskirts of the manufacturing district. Franny managed to coax Hermione out of her jacket before pushing the double doors open to reveal a room that opened up to the empty field beyond, half-made concrete structures jutting out from the grass as people danced around a dj booth, skated the open floor and sat in small groups with neon drinks that glowed in the lights suspended in the rafters. It had been years since Hermione had been to a muggle club, or any club for that matter, but with a twinge of insecurity she realized that this place seemed, well, cool. The bookworm in her recoiled, suddenly self-conscious.

Sensing her apprehension, Franny took her hand in her small one and flashed her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, people here are nice. And mostly too stoned or drunk to give you any grief. C'mon, let's grab a drink."

The two made their way towards the bar, where Franny greeted the bartender with a hug before securing them ridiculously large glasses of a sweet drink that glowed in the black light. The two stood next to a concrete block off to the side of the makeshift dance floor, and Franny was almost immediately greeted by a teenager with spiky neon blue hair who had skated up to them.

"Salut, Francesca! You and Dan playing tonight?" He nodded towards the group of friends he had left behind, who were kicking a ball around a grassy area lit up by flood lights.

Franny hugged him, Hermione noting how the girl did almost everything with practiced grace and ease. "Salut, Miguel! I don't think so. This is Hermione. Hermione, Miguel, one of the orphanage's most handsome success stories." She ruffled the boy's hair, smiling warmly.

Miguel grinned, allowing the gesture. He took Hermione's hand and kissed the back of it, making Hermione blush and mumble a 'pleased to meet you'.

"Don't believe a word she says, I'm not nearly quite as successful as they'll have you believe." He turned to Franny. "Say hi to the rest of the bunch later, yeah?"

As he skated away, Hermione sipped her drink. "Orphanage?"

Franny shrugged out of her own jacket and laid it on the block, inviting Hermione to sit on it next to her. "D, Draco I mean." She ran a hand through her hair. "He's been working at an orphanage since we moved here. Miguel is the first teenager he managed to help finish high school. Even learned how to play football once he found out that the kid was obsessed with it, just so he'd have an excuse to keep him out of trouble. Now that he's done, Draco managed to find him a couple of sponsors and now he plays for a team, gets paid and everything. Even convinced him to take classes at a community college instead of living the professional athlete life."

If Hermione was surprised at the information, she tried not to show it. A vicious part of her wanted to shake the younger woman, tell her it was all an act, that Malfoy would always be Malfoy and that this was all some power ploy to embarrass them, but she already knew the truth—the Slytherin had shed his skin. If Hermione were to be honest, it was… well, admirable, to say the least. Never in a million years did she imagine that Draco would be spending his time helping out muggle orphans, going above and beyond the line of duty. It spoke volumes of how much the wizard truly had changed, and Hermione felt that uncomfortable feeling pooling around her sternum again. This time, she was sure it wasn't the alcohol.

"He's still a bully though," Franny added. "He's still mean and vicious and he scares me sometimes. But, I dunno." She took out a cigarette and lit it. "He's a good man," she exhaled. "On most days, anyway." A grin. "I hope you don't still hold the things he did against him."

Hermione shook her head. "I really don't. You're right though, he is still a bully. He tried to manipulate me not five minutes into meeting him." They both laughed, and Hermione was surprised to find that it was comfortable. But still, she couldn't help but fish. "But people change. And I suppose meeting the right girl can bring that change about."

At that, Franny snorted. "Oh gods, that has nothing to do with me. It took him two years before he even admitted we were in a relationship. He's a piece of work, that one. Had to beg his last shrink to even consider taking him back. When we met, he was too scared to care about anything, kept screaming at me in public. But I guess after a while he realized I wasn't going anywhere." She took another long drag. "I guess that's all he really needed. Proof that he was worth sticking around for."

"Men," Hermione offered, unsure of what to say next as she downed half of her drink, the sweetness cloying at her throat as she tried to absorb all the information.

The muggle girl laughed. "I'm no expert. I'm still trying to figure the one I've got out." She looked at Hermione, her face unreadable in the shadows. "He's different around you, though. Brighter. Is that because you're magic too?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. She had never met anyone else who had spent years sequestered from their own magic, and could only imagine the pain that came with not being able to practice it, at not having a wand to do what only felt natural. With an uncomfortable pang, she realized how difficult a time she had given him earlier that evening, not realizing that his exile from the magical world also served as his atonement for his supposed sins. To not be able to do magic, to _willingly_ cut yourself off from that part of yourself… Hermione couldn't imagine the sacrifice that entailed, especially from a pureblood like Draco, who had grown up surrounded by it.

"I…" she began carefully, casting a look around them to check if anyone could overhear. "Well, witches and wizards have magical cores. I suppose you're familiar with auras?" Franny nodded. "Maybe being around mine is waking his up after years in the muggle world."

The girl nodded thoughtfully. "Speak of the devil," she said, her gaze on the entrance.

Hermione's breath hitched at the sight of Draco walking towards them, clad in his leather jacket, his silver eyes molten in the light. She shook her head, trying to rid it of unhealthy thoughts. That was the nth time she had caught herself thinking of Malfoy as anything other than, well, a ferret, and she berated herself. One, he was _Malfoy_. Two, he was taken. Three… Hermione was too buzzed to think of three, but she was sure there were a million other reasons after that to stop admiring the handsome man her childhood bully had turned out to be.

Draco joined them, giving Franny a long, slow kiss on the lips that had Hermione blushing. He waved off the cigarette Franny offered, and nodded at Miguel, who had skated back up to join them.

"Care for a shoot out, Dan?" the teenager jeered.

Draco hoisted himself up on the concrete next to Franny, pulling off his jacket. "Not tonight, buddy. You'll have to find someone else to hustle." He replied, smiling warmly at the boy.

"Scared the young blood will kick your ass, geezer?" Miguel taunted.

Franny nudged Hermione's shoulder, mouthing 'watch'.

Draco's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'll be scared once you can pull off more than a self meg, _young blood_." He sneered.

"Try me, old man."

Draco grunted, jumping off the ledge and grabbing Miguel by the back of the neck and shaking him good-naturedly, as an older brother would. "What's the wager then, punk?"

Miguel winked at Hermione. "First to give gets to dance with your lovely friend here."

Draco smirked at Hermione, who was ashen-faced next to a giggling Franny. "You're on, punk. Cesca, Granger, you don't mind while I teach this kid a lesson?"

Franny waved them off. "Bring the old man back in one piece, Miguel. Mai and I will go warm up on the dance floor."

The two boys walked off to join the people kicking the ball around and Franny jumped down, offering Hermione her hand.

"I… I don't dance." Hermione said, still pale.

"Don't be silly, everyone can dance."

Half an hour later, Franny and Hermione returned to their corner, Franny clutching at her sides in mirth. "Okay, I stand corrected, not everyone can dance."

Hermione hoisted herself up on their make-shift perch, giggling. "I don't know what you're talking about! That was _fun_!"

Franny downed the rest of her drink, shaking her head. "I don't know what constitutes as 'fun' where _you're_ from, but having your skinny hips banging into mine was, decidedly, not fun for me," she teased.

Hermione laughed, feeling the alcohol's full effects. "You were warned, Francesca… what _is_ your last name?"

"Francesca Alessa Benenati," she declared, adopting a full Italian accent and taking a deep bow. "At your service."

"You're Italian," Hermione stated, amused. "I thought you were, well, Asian."

"With green eyes?" Franny snorted. "My mom was half something-something, but my dad and nonna were full blooded, from the old country. Guess that's why I'm skinny in all the weird places," She gestured towards her chest. "And meaty in all the wrong ones." She patted her thighs.

Hermione shrugged. "At least you don't have scars crisscrossing your body," she admitted bitterly.

Franny tossed her hair up, twisting it into a bun at the top of her head, looking Hermione up and down. "When I grow up, Miss Granger, should I ever find myself in that unfortunate predicament, I should say that I would want to grow up to be just like you."

Hermione laughed. "That's very kind of you, but it's not all it's cracked up to be. People… people expect things from you. They expect you to always have your shite together, pardon my French." She threw Franny an apologetic look. "The whole war heroine thing gets tiresome. I don't blame Mal- Draco for wanting no part of the infamy. I suppose it must be nice to be saved rather than the other way 'round."

"You don't have someone waiting for you back home?"

The witch grimaced. "No." She ran through the extremely short list of lovers she'd had since Ron in her head and almost laughed. "Not everyone wants to wake up in the middle of the night to a girl who screams bloody murder," she admitted bitterly.

To her mild surprise, Franny took her hand, lacing her fingers through hers. "Well," she said quietly. "There's enough saving here to go around. We should hang out again when you get back from your assignment." She smiled. "Your magical aura or whatever makes D happy, and, well, I'd like to think our company is good for you, too."

Hermione returned the pressure the younger girl had on her hand and found herself returning the smile. "I'd like that very much, actually. I'm sure the Ministry wouldn't mind if I extended my trip a few days," she offered, trying not to overanalyze the multitude of reasons why she was already so at ease with this muggle girl she'd just met.

"Holding hands, I see, and gazing at each other so lovingly to boot. Should I get my hopes up that Granger spends the night with us, pet?" Draco commented, joining them. He smirked, pushing away the hair that had plastered to his sweaty forehead.

Franny rolled her eyes but didn't let go of Hermione's hand. Draco grinned as he noticed the flush that had crept up the witch's cheeks.

"We should add 'dirty' to your new nickname, old man," Franny teased. "Did you win? Cos if that's the case, I have to warn Miguel now to watch his toes."

Draco took a swig of the beer he had returned with. "Fortunately, he found a more age-appropriate bird to fly away with tonight. He left halfway through our game. Good timing, too, Merlin knows I can't run in boots."

Franny shook her head. "Excuses," she poked Draco in the chest. "Now claim your prize and get Hermione on the dance floor while I go wrangle us up a few more drinks."

Draco shrugged, setting his empty bottle down and offering Hermione a hand. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione took it before she could think of a reason not to. "Mister Malfoy," she nodded solemnly.

Franny smirked at them before setting off towards the bar. "You crazy kids have fun."

Draco led Hermione into the throng that had appeared in front of the DJ booth, the opening notes of Chet Faker's "The Trouble With Us" reverberating through her body. Of course, _of course_ Draco Malfoy could dance, she thought wryly as Draco turned to face her, his silver eyes a storm as he fixed her with his gaze. Hermione tried not to fumble as she shifted awkwardly, his hands resting on her waist, moving with her slowly to the beat.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, closing her eyes to the music as Draco moved against her. She tried not to think of how warm he was, how pleasant his hands felt on the skin where her shirt had ridden up over the waistband of her jeans. She tried not to think of how close his face was as his hips pressed against hers, how good he felt pressed up against her, period. Tried to remind herself that this was a very taken Draco Malfoy that was making her heart skip a beat.

 _I'm tryna make this a mess / We're tryna run in the dark / We're makin' reasons to destroy our believing / Cause we're addicted to bleeding hearts_

Also a very _reformed_ Draco Malfoy, a small voice in the back of her head whispered. A Draco Malfoy who isn't afraid of you, who doesn't expect you to be Hermione bleeding Granger, who actually apologized for things that weren't his fault and helps orphans and drinks muggle beer and for the love of Merlin looks absolutely delicious in those jeans.

 _Got me fighting, making nothing sacred / We're tearing paint off the walls / Nights are made of kiss and makeup / It's on the edge of emotional_

Before Hermione could stop herself, she had curled her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer so that his breath ghosted over her warm cheek. _You're drunk_ , she reprimanded herself, feeling her shoulders sag as his thumb rubbed the small of her back, coaxing her even closer. Gods if he didn't feel good moving against her. She took a deep, steading breath that only that only served to give her lungfulls of his scent, a mix of sweat, beer, sandalwood and freshly-cut grass. She groaned in the back of her throat, feeling absolutely lost to the music, the feel of Draco's toned body the only thing left to anchor her.

 _Ooh, God / That's the trouble with me / I need the trouble with you_

Her nose touched his cheek, and she gripped the back of his neck, feeling his gravity pull her in. It had been so long since someone had touched her like this, paid attention to her like this. She didn't understand why, but Draco had yet to treat her like she was something to either pity or patronize. Instead, he had made comments that he found her attractive enough to invite her to his and Franny's bed, treated her as a normal woman who didn't literally have the scars of war on her shoulders.

 _Ooh, God / That's the trouble with us / I need the trouble with trust_

Shit, _Franny_. Hermione's eyes snapped open only to meet Draco's grey ones boring into hers with an intensity that made her knees buckle. He caught her weight as she stumbled, leaning in so his lips ghosted hers ever so slightly.

"What's the matter, Granger?" he said quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Realize you're dancing with a Death Eater?"

"N-no," she stammered. She drew back a little, casting a panicked look around them to check if anyone was watching. The crowed remained thick, pulsing with each flash of strobelight, pushing her closer to him. "Just… wondering where Franny is."

Draco chuckled low in his throat, and Hermione had to think of Ancient Runes to distract herself from how good the vibration in his chest felt against hers. "Probably flirting with the bartender. She hasn't paid for her own drink since she was seventeen."

"And what is she now, eighteen?" Hermione couldn't keep the edge out of her voice.

Draco smirked, pulling her closer so that his face buried in her hair. "She's legal enough, Granger. Are you…jealous?" He tucked a hand behind her neck, running his fingers through her hair as his other hand pressed her into him. "Because I can assure you, neither of us finds anything wrong with a dance and a healthy amount of flirting."

"Is that what this is? Flirting?" Hermione said breathlessly, trying to push his shoulders away.

Draco relented only a tiny bit. He drew his face away from hers, moving his hand so that it cupped her cheek. "Do you want it to be?" he breathed against her skin.

Hermione bit her lip, her head swimming. This was bad. She could feel herself scrambling. She prided herself on always having the answers, but at the moment she was too drunk to have any, and the realization made her tense in his arms.

Draco laughed and spun her around only to pull her back, crashing into his body. Hermione gripped his shoulders to steady herself as he lowered his head to press a kiss against her neck. "Live a little, Granger." With that, he let her go just as the song ended. With a wink, he took her hand and pulled her back to their corner.

Franny was waiting on their perch, her legs swinging in the air like a toddler as she sipped her drink and watched them approach. Hermione looked frazzled, her hair haloing around her like a corona against the neon lights, the patron saint of the drowning-and-didn't-even-know-it. Draco looked altogether too smug for his own good as he released the witch's hand and snaked one around Franny's waist as he jumped up next to her.

Franny handed Hermione her drink, and the witch shot her a guilty look before chugging down half of it. She raised an eyebrow at Draco, who shrugged. She elbowed him lightly in the ribs in silent reprimand. He winced and shot her a glare.

"Are you ready to head home, Mai?" Franny called, ignoring him.

Hermione nodded, chewing slowly on a piece of ice. "I think that would be a good idea. What time is it?"

Draco stretched, giving both girls a good view of his toned abs before smirking as he caught them looking. "Peacock," Franny muttered as he checked his watch. "It's half past midnight."

"I should go," Hermione stated, pulling on her jacket.

The three of them made for the door, and Draco hailed Hermione a cab as Franny looped her arm around the witch. "We'll see you when you get back, yeah?"

Hermione smiled and turned into the girl's hug, pressing a light kiss on her cheek. "Yes, I'll see you in a few days."

Franny returned the kiss on the cheek and guided her to the cab. Draco draped an arm around Franny's shoulders as Hermione shut the door.

"Alright, Granger?" His eyes were cold, daring her.

She met his gaze. "Alright, Malfoy."

* * *

Hermione stripped her clothes off as she entered her dark hotel room, collapsing into the bed in only her underwear. She pressed a pillow to her face and groaned loudly. After a few moments of self-loathing, she flipped over and stared at the ceiling. With a flick of her wand, the brightest witch of her age (despite not feeling very bright at the moment) conjured a replica of the night sky onto it, staring at a specific constellation. She closed her eyes, head swimming, subconsciously pressing two fingers to her lips as she wondered if Draco Malfoy was what madness tasted like.

* * *

"Something you want to tell me?" Franny called after Draco as she hung up their helmets and picked his jacket up off the floor. She followed him into the apartment without bothering to flick on the lights and leaned against the wall as he rummaged around their refrigerator for a snack.

He glanced back at his lover, who stood in the halflight from the lamps outside, her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. He popped a lolly into his mouth and sauntered over to her, pressing his forehead onto hers and pulling her arms around his waist. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" he offered, undoing her topbun and shaking out her long hair.

She rolled her eyes as he bent down and kissed her neck. A hand pressed against his chest pushed him back far enough to meet her eyes, which promised trouble. "First of all, you're getting me sticky with your candy. Second, you better not be plotting something devious, Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"I'm always plotting, love. Right now I'm plotting to get you in the shower" he grinned, ducking back down to continue his ministrations. After he had guided her to their bathroom and shed his shirt and jeans, Franny held his face in her hands. He paused, his fingers hovering over the button of her jeans, taking in the solemn look on her face.

"Third and most important, D."

He murmured something incomprehensible as he kissed her softly on the lips.

"No pretending I'm her, tonight or any night."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 _In which decisions are made._

Draco had been awake for hours, his tangled hair clinging to his nape and forehead with cold sweat. He was still shaking, despite having curled his far larger form into Franny's lithe one in the middle of the night, biting into the front of her shirt to keep his teeth from chattering. Judging from the lightening sky outside their apartment window, dawn was mere minutes away, and he had yet to get a blink of sleep thanks to his nightmares—ones that he hadn't had in years.

And goodness, how they had returned with a vengeance.

They always started off unassuming enough, as dreams so often do. In this last one, he was back on the floor of that New York alley, braced against the wall and clutching his ribs, his mouth tasting of copper from his split lip. He heard the crunch of boots on asphalt, so familiar whenever he recalled the night he'd met Franny—except the face that swam before him didn't bear her startling green eyes or the pixie cut she'd had when they had met. Instead, it was Granger's dark pools of brown, her bushy hair golden in the streetlight.

Before he could open his mouth to say anything, Granger had been ripped from him, slamming into the other wall of the alley, and her screams echoed so loudly in his ears that, with a wave of panic, he'd been convinced it was all real. Her pain lanced through him like a sword, and, as always, he could do nothing but watch her writhe in agony as the ghostly apparition of his aunt towered over her, a manic gleam in her eye as she screamed "CRUCIO!" at his former schoolmate. Except now his aunt morphed, turning into Lucius, who would fix Draco with an icy glare so similar to his own, before transforming into Draco himself, his wand hand held high over the suffering witch. The killing curse danced on his lips as he felt a rage so spontaneous, so real, as he watched her cough up blood with the detached coolness he had so often willed himself into hiding behind during those trying times.

The first night, he had woken up to Franny slapping him, her face panicked in the midnight moon, worry evident in her eyes. He hadn't woken her up screaming and shaking in longer than they could, or cared to, remember. True to form, Franny had asked no questions, instead pulling him into her with surprising strength, knowing he would fight against the need for any comfort, and simply rubbed his back as she murmured reassurances.

 _It was just a dream. You're with me now, this is real. You're okay. There was nothing you could have done. It was just a dream._

The nightmares had persisted. Always, it was Granger. At the alleyway, in the Manor, in the middle of Death Eater combat training—even in the crowded dancefloor of The Court. Always, he was helpless, watching her suffer for what felt like lifetimes. Always, he had woken desperately wishing he had a dose of Dreamless Draught, for nothing save the blissful unconsciousness of that or a Stunning Spell could keep the dreams at bay.

Now though, a full week later, Draco had begun to watch them happen with a numb sort of resignation, knowing, as he had years before, that there was nothing he could do in his dreams to help her and nothing he could do to change the past. Tonight, he had finally made peace with that and, dropping his wand hand and curling his fingers into the hair at Granger's nape, he pressed his forehead onto hers and whispered an apology before her dark eyes shimmered before him and disappeared.

He had curled into his girlfriend seeking warmth, not wanting to wake her by crying. Salazar help him, if there was one thing he was still uncomfortable with, it was shedding tears. He knew, dimly, that now that he had made peace with it again, the nightmares with her in them would cease—but it was little comfort for the shock of living out one of his worst memories. Part of his long road to recovery had been admitting that he needed help, despite the belief that a Malfoy can never be weak being beaten into him since before he could even walk, but tonight, no, he needed to sort through this on his own.

He shouldn't have been surprised that the nightmares had come back. He had expected them, partly even welcomed them, since the night Granger waltzed back into his life, knowing full well that a lot of his war guilt was based on his inability to take action when the girl had needed him the most. Draco, who had spent his whole life seeking approval, had barely been able to contain his disappointment in himself. He had spent years wanting to throw himself prostate at the Muggle-born's feet, begging for forgiveness despite the knowledge that a Malfoy simply did not beg, but he had come to the realization (and acceptance) that given the circumstances, there truly was nothing he could have done. He had, after all, apologized to her when he'd seen her, and he only hoped that the woman who had sat across him could understand the various depths that his apology had extended to.

Draco untangled himself from his girlfriend, sprawling on his back to face the ceiling. He had been kept awake by Granger's screams of pain for the last week, but tonight he stayed awake, knowing he needed to wrestle with the feelings he had regarding the witch.

Save for his mother, Draco had never had any real feelings for another woman save for Pansy during their three-year relationship, and now Franny. Where Pansy had been expected (her pedigree was, after all, impeccable), there had been only companionship and sexual frustration between them, culminating in a tangle of awkward limbs and painful thrusts as she gave him her virginity after a Slytherin Quidditch victory party in fifth year. Their break up had been mutual and, surprisingly, had barely caused a stir within their house. Pansy had wanted a relationship that was based on more than resignation and mutual respect, and Draco had, in his way, loved her enough to want the same thing for her.

And Franny. Heavens, Franny. His relationship with the muggle girl had been an exercise in slow burn, like a Polaroid photograph that simply took its sweet time to develop no matter how much you shook it. She had brought him back to his hotel room the night she followed the fight with the remaining Weasley twin out into the alley, stayed with him as he drank himself into a rage and said nothing as he finally broke down into incoherent sobs and confusing confessions. He'd found himself clinging onto her after that, having had no real social interactions in the muggle world save for her and the occasional one night stand, and he had marveled at the friendship and acceptance that she had so willingly offered him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he learned her the way she had learned him—and he learned her world. Before he knew it he had found a friend, a _best_ friend in the way that the politics of pureblood society or Slytherin House would never have allowed. A relationship that provided and sacrificed until it hurt without asking for anything in return. Franny never asked questions, never pushed him farther than he seemed willing to go, and, thank muggle Jesus, through her he learned how to be a good person.

Not without her own demons, over the course of their first year of friendship he had watched her and her gentleness, the ease and self-assurance with which she walked through the world, having seemingly accepted who she was, shortcomings and all. Slowly, Draco learned by her example, growing in kindness and charity and most of all, growing to accept who he had been and who he was becoming—who he wanted to become. With the aid of her unwavering friendship and fierce belief in him, Draco Malfoy had emerged from the shadows of his own past stronger, whole again.

His recovery had not been an easy feat, and by the time their second Christmas together had rolled around, he had found himself with the bone-deep knowledge that he loved her—her, sitting on the Coney Island pier with her legs dangling over the edge, nursing a hot chocolate that was quickly getting cold in the December chill. He, next to her with his own, openly gaping at her windswept hair and absent-minded chatter, marveling at the warmth that was spreading across his chest and limbs as he drank her in. Before he could think his way out of it, he had leaned over and brushed the lightest of kisses across her chapped lips. It had not been the first intimate gesture between them, as they often wrapped arms around each other or held hands, but Franny knew Draco like the back of her hand and understood the meaning of the surprisingly gentle gesture. She had grinned at him, sending crimson onto her pale lips as they split with the sudden movement. He had laughed as he realized the ridiculousness of the situation. Despite his fear of losing her friendship and the fear of rejection that had stemmed from his insecurities (which, in turn, he had developed from losing everything he had been taught was valuable), he, Draco Malfoy, had fallen in love with this brusque, charming muggle girl with her split lip and affinity for curse words. By the time the New Year rolled around, he was kissing her at midnight at a party, nothing gentle in the way his hands wound possessively around her body or in the way her tongue had come crashing into his mouth. That night he finally asked her to be his girlfriend, the next day he brought his trunk of belongings over to her apartment and turned it into theirs. Never one to overlook details, it had seemed apt to him the morning after their first night of intimacy that she was named Francesca—of the French, where he traced his lineage. His, without a doubt, sent by whatever gods were still looking out for him, a sliver of light in a dark room, guiding him to the door.

Granger, on the other hand, was like staring into the past once he had squinted beyond the mirror image of his own guilt and pain. Having spent his formative years with the muggle-born witch, he had easily seen through her well-built façade, through the cracks in the armor she had constructed for herself after the war. He had absently wondered, as he watched her across from him at the market, if everyone on the side of the Light had come out that broken. Her nails were bitten down to the base, the skin around the edges of her nailbeds open and bleeding, and she still jumped and reached for her wand whenever a plate crashed or a motor revved. The shadows around her chocolate-brown eyes were dark, telling of a person who never got more than a couple of hours of sleep at night, and he couldn't help but notice the callouses on her hands and the bruises on her arms, signs that the woman had never ceased combat training. To fight against what, he had wondered. Where Draco and most of the Dark Lord's lot had given up all hope of recovering their pointless cause, those in the Order seemed to still be wound up, preparing for a fight that, years down the road, wasn't coming. As the witch settled herself into the seat with the best view of both ends of the street, Draco had wondered if she were still waiting to be attacked. As she threw calculating looks at both himself and Franny, he wondered how absolutely exhausted it must be to always be on guard. As she dug her broken nails into his shoulders on the dance floor, he had wondered how much of this he could hold himself responsible for—how he could save her.

Draco shook the thought out of his, wanting to be rid of it. This savior complex that he had picked up from his forays in the muggle world would do him no good in the case of Granger. The bushy-haired witch may have grown out of her buck teeth and know-it-all attitude, turning into what looked, to most, to be a beautiful young woman with the world at her feet and her life figured out, but he wondered if the woman knew herself at all. If she had even allowed herself to grieve all of the people she had lost during the war and even after, for the childhood she had sacrificed to bring down a Dark Wizard—nay, a Dark _Lord_ —or even for the youth she was wasting lying to herself, telling herself that denying herself time to recover was in everyone's best interests. Knowing Granger, the insufferable bint had probably powered through all of her issues, putting them behind her without resolving them, staying strong for the people around her. Another example of _reckless_ Gryffindor courage. He shook his head again, not for the first time thankful for the smarts and cunning associated with his own house. Hindsight may be the lowest form of wisdom, but it was still 20/20 and wisdom nevertheless.

He wondered if Granger had shacked up with Weasley the way he always figured she would, or if she had at least found another warm body to sleep next to at night to keep her own nightmares at bay.

The thought of Granger's soft curves and voluminous curls fanned out against a bed stirred an ache deep in his groin, and he kicked himself out of bed. _What the hell, Malfoy_ , he berated himself. He sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands. Not once in the last three years had he ever even thought of another woman that way apart from his own girlfriend—and indeed, Draco prided himself on his loyalty to a partner whenever he took one—so these thoughts of Granger that had been slipping into his consciousness whenever he thought about her were not only improper but wholly unwelcome.

If he were being honest with himself, which he _hated_ being, he would admit that something had _changed_ after that night. After being around Granger, after flirting with her against his better judgement and being so close to the witch, something in him had stirred. He began to feel the familiar twitch in his fingers, the pull at his navel that spread throughout every muscle of his body, making him ache. The realization of how much he had missed his magic, missed being around his own kind, had made him equal parts delirious with longing and raging with guilt. The colors of the world he had come to love and become so accustomed to now strangely fell flat, and he longed for the sound of wings fluttering against the window carrying the mail, the thrill that came with properly casting a spell, the smell of a potions lab that promised discovery and wonder.

He supposed he could chalk his lewd thoughts of the witch up to that—simply missing being with one of his own kind. True to form as his best friend and lover, Franny had called him out on it the very night they came home from spending time with her. It wasn't the first time the girl had heard Granger's name coming from him based on years of nightmares, and she was smart enough to figure that the witch had meant something or other to him in his past. He didn't blame Franny for the fight that ensued, but if she knew he had less than proper thoughts about her then it would have been a whole other argument—one that had no place in the peace and bliss they had carved out for themselves after moving here.

 _But what if_ , Draco thought, what if Granger's reactions were anything to base things off of? Could he actually stand a chance at returning to his world with only minor repercussions? He had changed, he reminded himself. He was better now, stronger. And it appeared that the world he left behind had changed as well. Would it welcome him? Would he be ready for it? Merlin, how he missed magic. How he missed the world he had grown up in. Would he be worthy of it this time around?

 _Do good_ , he listed in his head. _Take your fate in your own hands. Walk the middle path._

He had been doing good in the world, in his own way. He had chosen this path, tread the lines between indulgence and sacrifice so carefully that now he recoiled at over-the-top displays of privilege, that acts of kindness were almost second nature. _What now_ , he mused. What happens when the middle path comes to an end? Did he truly believe that he wanted to spend the rest of his life without practicing magic?

At that moment, Franny stirred. He felt the weight of her arm groping across the bed for him, and he turned into her embrace, settling his lover into his arms, burying his face into her neck and hair, breathing in the lavender scent of her.

Could he give her up? His muggle life may have dulled, but Franny was his constant. In her own, mundane and wonderful way, she had been a kind of magic to him. From the first night he'd met her, he'd felt himself gravitate towards the characteristics she possessed and found so painfully lacking within himself. It was part of why he loved his life with her so much. She was as transparent as glass, irreverent as stone, strong in all the ways he wished he was. His Polaris, his lighthouse, his moral compass. The answer came swiftly to him. No, he couldn't give her up. But would his world make room for her?

He grimaced, imagining the Prophet headline: Malfoy Heir Returns with Muggle Lover. His father would throw a fit in Azkaban once he got wind of it. He had no doubt that he could protect her, but would it be a life that she would want? She had already moved to the other side of the world for him—could she turn her back on everything she had known altogether?

She purred against him, massaging circles into his back. "Drake?" she croaked. "No nightmares tonight?"

"No, love," he lied easily. Before he could stop himself, "Have I ever told you that I'm pretty much royalty?"

Franny snorted. "Is this some weird role play fantasy? Because I haven't showered. I can smell myself and lemme tell you, it's not pretty."

He pulled back so he could look her in the eyes. "I'm serious, Fran. I'm filthy, stinking rich, even after the war reparations. It's quite obscene, really. Manor, servants, balls and high society—the whole disgusting deal."

Noting the disdain in his voice, Franny shifted so that she was sitting against the wall, pulling Draco to her so he was lying on her lap and she could run her hands through his hair the way she knew he liked. After a long pause: "I kind of figured," she said quietly, gesturing to the apartment around them.

He snorted. "Chump change, love. I'm talking vaults full of actual gold, chests of jewels."

Taking his chosen topic of morning conversation in stride, she nudged him playfully. "Then why don't you ever take me shopping?"

He shrugged, eyes shuttered closed. "I like your ratty clothes. Very street-urchin chic."

She ignored him. "And the anonymous donations to the orphanage?"

"Courtesy of the Malfoy Empire. I'd give it all away if there was no inheritance clause." He paused. "Would you want that? Ballgowns and mansions and house elves?"

"House _what_?"

"Focus, Ces." He turned so that he was straddling her legs, her face in his palms. "I've dated enough witches that threw themselves at me for my vaults, for my family name, for the easy way into pureblood aristocracy. Even after the war, my family still has power. And that's something that the Ministry, that people will always come after me for," he confessed. "When you met me, I had nothing to offer you." He held his thumb against her lips to silence her retort. "I had nothing to offer you except nightmares and screaming and anger. And still, you stayed. I don't say it often enough, but I can never thank you enough for that."

She returned the gesture, cupping his face in her hands, running fingers over the scar under his right eye and another above his left eyebrow. " _I do not love you except because I love you, only because it's you the one I love_."

He sighed. "Don't throw Neruda at me, Benenati."

"I mean it, though." She kissed him, slowly, her tongue tracing over his lips. " _In fire and blood_."

"I hope it never comes to that," Draco admitted, grey eyes unreadable.

She raised an eyebrow at him before shaking her head and asking the inevitable question, "What brought this on?"

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat, seeming to consider the myriad of possible reactions she would have to the truth. "Ever since Granger, I just… I don't know, Ces. I used to think there was nothing left for me there, but seeing her…. Maybe, just maybe. I could come back. And you could have the life you deserve. You can quit working at the café, we can travel to anywhere you want and-"

She cut him off. "D, don't use me as an excuse for wanting to go back. I'm no witch, and you know I like this life." She gestured again at their apartment. "I like that I can watch you cooking from our bed, I like that you're always an arm's reach away, and I even like doing your laundry—despite how stinky your socks get." She took a deep breath and flashed him one of her wan little smiles. "Honestly, I've been waiting for you to want to go home. Because your world, D, that's what it is. Your _home_."

Whatever tension Draco had been nursing left his body then, and he slumped against her, all six feet of him, resting his forehead on hers. A part of him hated her for being right and for how she had just lovingly resigned him to a future he, at the moment, so desperately wanted. To go back not just to his world but to the freedom to practice magic. He had known she would react this way without knowing the full repercussions of her words, but still, her openness to his if not sudden then life-altering decision to return was overwhelming—and only served to make him love her even more. "You're an idiot," he said, by way of an _I love you_.

"Yes, but I'm your idiot. And you. My love. You're _my_ home." A comfortable silence settled over them, and the sun rose ever higher, sending shafts of multi-colored light across them. "Draco?" she whispered.

"Francesca?"

"As long as you don't choose, anything is possible. But if you don't, we're going to be stuck in limbo forever."

Draco turned the thought over in his head. "Would you…would you go with me?"

She nodded slowly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Where you do, I go."

"I carry your heart with me, I carry it in mine." Draco murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"So. When do we leave?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, everyone! Thanks for sticking with me this far! Just a couple of quick things: Yes, this is still a Draco/Hermione fic. Please believe me when I say that I have plans for the two love birds, and Franny plays a very important role in readying them for each other. Things are going to get less introspective in the following chapters, I promise. Last, please read and review! Again, this is my first fic and I'd love to get input. Thank you! 3


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hello! I feel terrible for not updating these last two weeks, but work has been kicking me in the ass. I hope this chapter makes up for it. Also, belated happy birthday to the one and only Draco Malfoy! *throws confetti* As always, please read and review :)

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

 _In which Hermione reaches her tipping point._

The weeks following Hermione's trip to Vietnam had passed by in what she could only describe as a comfortable blur. The field assignment itself had been exhausting—it turned out that the spikes in magical activity had indeed been from an unregistered wizard, albeit one that was a half-breed between a witch and a local magical being. They'd had to call in agents from another department and the whole ordeal had taken days, reaching the pinnacle of clusterfuck when muggles from the village had seen the wizard use his magic to create a tornado of fire in his rage and fear. Memory charms had been approved, and the cleanup had eaten into the following week. She had stayed on because of her expertise with the charm, and the irony of it even after all these years wasn't lost on her.

Still, Hermione had reveled in being part of some action again. She had been chained to her desk for too long, buried under paperwork. Being able to use her hands and her magic in such a proactive way had reminded her why she had allowed herself to get tied up in the bureaucratic process in the first place—to make sure people didn't fall through the cracks. Someone in the system had to care enough to look out for them.

Despite herself, she had returned to Ho Chi Minh looking forward to seeing Franny and Draco only to realize that she had no way of contacting them as an owl was out of the question and she had no idea where they lived either way. Hermione had gone back to the café where Franny worked, only to find out that the girl had quit the day prior without explanation. With no other excuse to stay, Hermione had flooed back to London bereft of a distraction from the confusing feelings she had been trying to ignore since she saw the wizard last.

As the weeks flew by her, she wondered what her friends would say if she told them that she had discovered where Draco Malfoy had been hiding out for the last four years, and if they would believe her when she told them what kind of a man he had grown up to become—the kind of man, she mused, that she would actually look forward to seeing.

Ginny would, she was sure, ask if he was still fit; Harry would wrinkle his nose in distaste and Ron would probably check if she had a fever. She was, after all, the first in line when it came to expressing distaste for the pureblood heir. Or at least, she was until she'd seen him again. It had almost been like meeting a completely different person—or at least, a side of him she had always hoped existed.

Not that Hermione had harbored much hope for Malfoy during their Hogwarts years. He had been insufferable: privileged, prejudiced and an all-around prat. But now that she had gotten distance from the events of the war, she had realized how close he had been sleeping with the monster. Malfoy had been perhaps more afraid than any one of them. He had lost his childhood, no matter how sorry an excuse for one it had been—just like the rest of them. Sure, he had been born with far more advantages than the rest of them. He was affluent, to say the least, and had been blessed with a delicate sort of handsomeness that reminded Hermione of Renaissance angels the first time she saw him. He was also the only person in school that had challenged her intellectually—a fact that infuriated her to the point that she refused to let him beat her in any of their classes. Whatever admiration she'd had for the boy's beauty had been driven out by her hatred for him due to his bullying.

But now…now that the delicate bone structure had given way to chiseled features and a ruggedness that she had never thought him capable of and the taunts had turned into good-natured teasing…well, wasn't that a whole other story? Was it wrong for her to admire him now as an equal? Was it that the school boy had finally come shining through, or was it that the school boy had finally given way to a completely different side of the wizard?

Hermione Granger possessed the kind of insatiable curiosity that killed cats, yes, and she had to admit that Malfoy intrigued her—but she was also not the type of witch to carry around a torch for _anyone_. Even at eleven, she had known that she was in love with Ron the second she had met him on the Hogwarts Express with that adorable smudge of dirt on his nose. Her brief period of time dating Viktor Krum notwithstanding, she had never harbored anything that resembled something so irrational and impractical as a crush on anyone, well—ever.

As with every man she had dated since, she had known exactly where she stood and how she felt. But Malfoy… Godric, help her. Just the thought of his well-toned biceps curled around her waist, the ghostly-light touch of his fingertips on her skin and the softness of his lips against her neck was enough to make her knees buckle. The wizard had danced across her every vacant thought (and, alright, even the occupied ones) since the evening of their reunion, leaving her with butterflies the size of Boeing 747s doing loops in her stomach.

She let out a groan as she shuffled through the papers on her desk, rubbing her eyes to rid herself of the possibility that the sentiment entailed. A part of her wrote it off as a biological reaction. Yes, that had to be it. What other rational explanation could there be for her spending the last three nights trying to categorize just what shade of grey his eyes fell under?

 _You are 24 years of age, graduated top of your class at Hogwarts and fulfilled a very important job at the British Ministry of Magic_ , she reminded herself. _You're a war hero, for crying out loud! You can't seriously think that you_ like _Draco Death-Eater Malfoy!_

She knew that reducing him to something he clearly hadn't been in years was unfair, but the idea of Malfoy, of all people, having changed so drastically unnerved her. Just remembering that she had called him by his first name sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, it felt so wrong. She would never have even imagined him capable of smiling and laughing so unguardedly if she hadn't seen it for herself. It was as if he had been an outline, all harsh lines and blankness, and the last few years had finally colored him in.

Was that what love did to you, she wondered, staring blankly at a photo of her and her friends that rested on her desk. She reached out and fingered the magical image of her, Ron and Harry outside the Burrow taken after the war, the smiles on their faces a reflection of how jubilant they had been to have survived. Her friendships had been her lifeline, she knew. Her two boys had given her a reason to fight and persevere, but now that they had all grown up and life had taken them down different paths, a small part of her wondered if what her reasons were now and if the ones she had given herself were enough.

A gaping hole had opened up in Hermione when she had seen how happy Malfoy had been. _Does finding the right person make you whole?_ she wondered.

Hermione was far too busy to lose herself in idle fantasies, but she had also grown up on great love stories. After all, where else would she have learned about great friendship and love? What girl didn't daydream about being swept off her feet, about a prince coming to save her? Yes, she was an immensely practical woman, but that didn't mean that she didn't find herself indulging in said fantasies from time to time. The truth was (and she had yet to realize this) Hermione was always half-waiting for the right person to waltz into her life, take the reins from her and whisk her off into happily-ever-after. They had won the war; shouldn't this be it?

As she sat staring at her ridiculously tidy desk, she wondered what her life would have been like if the war hadn't happened. Would she have found happiness the way Draco had? Would she be living in a quaint little townhouse in the English countryside rather than an apartment in the city, curled up next to someone, married and surrounded by children, if she hadn't chosen to devote her life to reforming a society that still, despite everything she had sacrificed and done, refused to drop their prejudices and accept her and other muggle-born witches and wizards with open arms?

All her life, Hermione had been the kind of girl that people turned to for solutions for their problems. She, in turn, found them in books. She was a problem-solver, a fighter, the farthest thing from a damsel in distress. But then, she realized, neither was Franny. And yet she and Draco seemed to manage the kind of relationship that allowed them to depend on each other without sacrificing who they were as individuals. Would she ever find that for herself?

She clenched her fists and released them, watching as the blood rushed back into the crescent moon indents her nails had made into her palm. She had won the war, and yet Malfoy had finally found a way to best her. Her stomach turned as she cradled her head in her hands, asking herself if she had made the right decisions in life. She hated making mistakes, and it would ruin her to think that she could be better off, happy like Malfoy, if she had done things differently.

She shook her head. This line of thinking would bring her nothing but heartache, she knew. Her life, she told herself, was incredibly fulfilling. Keeping busy kept her alive, and so did staying on guard. _Constant vigilance_ , Mad-Eye had taught them. In a way, she was thankful that her work and her friends kept her too busy to feel things. The last four years of consistency and hard work had lent her a blissful sort of numbness that kept the nightmares at bay, drove back the monsters in her head that threatened to rip her apart if she showed so much as an opening or a soft-spot. She was in her mid-twenties, but right now she felt every bit a child who had something they desperately wanted taken away from them. A tantrum bubbled at the base of her throat as her heart clenched. Sodding Malfoy and his sodding happiness.

 _Enough,_ she told herself. An existential crisis could wait until the weekend, which was, she noted with a grimace, in 15 minutes time. The work day was almost over, and she had wasted most of her afternoon thinking about Malfoy. With a quick promise to herself that those thoughts would be the last, she did one last check for any pending work she needed to accomplish for day, tidied the remaining papers on her desk and dashed off her to-do list for the following Monday. She was about to rise when a knock sounded at the door.

Assuming that it was her assistant, Diane, she waved her want absentmindedly to open the door. "Yes, Di? I got Hutchins' memo, kindly let her know that I-"

The words died in her throat as she looked up to meet the gaze of the last person she had expected to see. In the Ministry itself, no less. The saying 'speak of the devil and he doth appear' swiftly came to mind. "M-Malfoy?"

With a curt nod, Draco let himself into her office and shut the door behind him. "Granger," he greeted. "May I?"

Hermione gaped, and with a subtle roll of his eyes he took a seat in one of her armchairs. "My apologies for barging in on you. I know it's almost the weekend, but I got back just a few days ago and… Granger? Are you listening?"

Her mouth was open as she stared at him. Dressed in impeccable, formal black robes with an exquisitely tailored muggle suit underneath and once again sporting his signature platinum blond hair, he looked like he had just walked out of the very memories Hermione had been reminiscing about. "Malfoy," she sputtered. "What are you doing _here_?"

The wizard across from her gave a nonchalant shrug, but she didn't miss the slightly amused smile that was threatening to tug at his lips. "Decided that it was time to come back to the wizarding world. I realized how sorely missed I've been." he deadpanned, leaving out the part that she had played in his decision-making.

Pulling herself together, Hermione sat up straighter, absent-mindedly patting down her robes. "I suppose that's your right." She said. "But that doesn't explain what you're doing in my office."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Adopting his signature smirk, he found himself unable to refrain from baiting her. "Why Granger, judging from our last meeting I expected you to be a little more…receptive to my presence."

Hermione tried valiantly to fight the flush that crept up her cheeks at the memory. "If I'm not mistaken, Malfoy, you're the one that's in _my_ office. Clearly, you're the one who needs something from me," she shot back.

He leaned back into the chair, his silver eyes dancing with amusement as he tossed a folder onto her desk. "Indeed, I do need you."

The words bounced around in Hermione's head, and her subconscious made the mental effort to file the soundbite away for future reference.

"As I said, I've made the decision to return, and I realize that my move will not be without its consequences. I've yet to make any announcements, but I'm assuming that my presence here is bound to cause a stir. I hope you don't mind that I'm taking advantage of you." At that, he gave her another smirk.

Her feathers ruffled, Hermione crossed her arms as the motivations for his visit dawned on her. "Your first appearance in wizarding society in years and it's to the most well-known muggle-born witch's Ministry office. Well-played, Malfoy."

"I thought so, too. It certainly sets the tone for how I aim to be reintroduced. That said, I find that I require your assistance on more than just that front. I'd much rather deal with the press head on. Which is why I'm throwing a gala to formally announce my return. I need your help-" He motioned for her to open the folder. "-with the guest list. You'll find that I've drawn up a tentative list of persons of influence that should be in attendance, but unfortunately I haven't kept up with wizarding news in the last four years. If you would be so kind as to give me the pertinent names, my office will go about sending out the owls."

She studied the papers, which had more than two hundred names already listed—including Hogwarts alumni from their year who had fought on both sides of the war, along with Ministry leaders. Hermione gave him a curious glance. The man certainly knew how to make a statement. Hosting a gala with these people in attendance would indeed set the tone for his return, painting the image of him as not just a reformed Death Eater but an ally to the Muggle-born cause. If Malfoy managed to pull it off, Hermione's department would actually stand to benefit from him becoming another posterchild for the current regime. Of course, she would never tell him that.

"When is the gala scheduled for?"

"The end of the month."

"Malfoy, that's in a week!"

"Do you always feel compelled to state the obvious?"

She glared at him, her admiration quickly fizzling away. "Do you have to keep that stick up your bum?"

Draco laughed. Genuinely laughed. Hermione had to fight the involuntary shudder that crawled down her spine. She couldn't decide what was worse; the sound of his laughter or the sight of his smile. Unfortunately not for the reasons one would expect. "As pleasant as this banter is, Granger, will you help me or not?"

"Don't you have other people to help you out with this, Malfoy? Anyone from your little gang of ragtag Slytherins?"

The second she asked the question, she wished she could take it back. The wizard's eyes darkened to a stormy grey as the air of playfulness in the room vanished. He flashed her a smile, baring his canines. "If I had known you still prescribed to schoolyard grudges, Granger, I wouldn't have bothered approaching you."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. _Wow, that didn't hurt as much as I thought it would_ , she thought.

Draco tensed. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said I'm sorry." Hermione took a deep breath. "I was out of line." She placed the papers neatly back into their folder. "I'd be happy to help you."

He cleared his throat, breaking the not-quite-comfortable silence that had settled between them. "It's appreciated." He checked the time on his wristwatch. "Well, you're officially off the clock, Granger. I won't keep you." He rose to leave.

Before she could stop herself, her instinct to help had fully kicked in. "Actually, Malfoy, I'm available now. If your gala is in a week, I think it would be ideal if you sent those owls out before the weekend is over."

He raised an eyebrow at her, surprised by the offer. He honestly hadn't known what to expect when he decided to seek her assistance (there really was no one else he could, or wanted, to turn to), but this was going better than he could have imagined. He supposed he would have to start giving Granger more credit.

"A spot of tea then?" he suggested, deciding to take the olive branch. After the kind of life he'd led, a tentative friendship with Hermione Granger would not be the strangest thing to happen.

Their spot of tea had extended well into dinner, with Hermione briefing Draco about what had happened in the wizarding world during his absence. He had requested a background on each name she added to his list, along with a justification as to how he could benefit from developing a relationship with them. There had been ample arguments and both of them had been tempted more than once to simply walk out, but they both possessed the same stubbornness and refusal to give in to the other. So they had sat and talked it through, and by the time they had reached an agreement, it had been close to midnight.

As they walked side by side through the streets of muggle London towards a public floo (having dinner at a wizarding restaurant would have caused more of a stir than either of them wanted), Hermione couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. It was ridiculous, she knew, but this had been the most fun she could recall having since the last time she'd seen him. It had been a heated, stimulating conversation about things that she was genuinely interested in, and the wizard had proved that he was still her intellectual equal—challenging her opinions and views and forcing her to look at them from another perspective. It might have been the wine she'd indulged in at dinner, but every time Draco's elbow brushed hers, a warm feeling spread from the area and up her arm.

It was altogether too soon for her when they reached the public floo, cleverly hidden inside a foul-looking public toilet, and Hermione jammed her hands into her coat pocket to hide the tremor in them. The entire walk, while made in companionable silence, had been suffused in a sense of anticipation, as though they were on the precipice of something happening. Nothing earth-shattering, mind, but _something_ enough to make her anxious.

She had floated through the entire evening as though it were a dream, and now, in an alleyway tucked behind a building, she felt herself uncomfortably tethered to the ground. Her mouth felt dry and there was a lump in her throat, as though she had been forced back into her skin the wrong way.

She watched him from under her lashes, the slopes and planes of his face a study in chiaroscuro. She wasn't sure when it had happened, but at some point a line had been crossed between them—one that neither of them had planned to but breached nonetheless. Simple logic did not allow for this. Two people on such opposite ends of the spectrum didn't just suddenly have dinner and become friends. Not without repercussions.

Hermione wondered if somewhere a butterfly was batting its wings.

"Well, Granger." Draco said, finally breaking the silence. He waved his hand at the fireplace, where a fire promptly burst to life. "I'll see you at the gala then."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He nodded at her, a gesture that indicated she should go ahead and use the floo first, and Hermione almost burst out laughing at herself. Of course. _Of course_ this was goodbye. _Honestly, Hermione_ , she berated herself. _Did you honestly think he was going to kiss you goodbye or some such ridiculousness_? _He has a girlfriend. And he wouldn't never be interested in you anyway._

With a slight grimace, she gave him a curt nod and reached out to grab a handful of floo powder.

"Granger."

Hermione held her breath, unsure whether turning around was the wisest thing to do. Her curiosity, as always, won over her logic. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

The left corner of his mouth was turned up in a half-smile, which was all she'd seen before he took a step forward and brushed his lips on her cheek, so light that she was unsure if it had even happened. "Thank you," he whispered.

With a gentle push, he nudged her towards the flames. The last thing Hermione had seen before the swirl of magic engulfed her were his molten silver eyes. Eyes that were fixed on her.

As she tucked herself into bed that night, she allowed herself one last thought about the Malfoy heir. He had looked damn good with brown hair, but she decided that she much rather liked his natural platinum blond.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** So, you know how sometimes you have a plan in mind and then things just get out of hand? Well, this story has most definitely taken a life of its own. Uploading this chapter a week early, because it pretty much just wrote itself. Hopefully the next one won't take me too long to write out. Please let me know what you think, and if you have any questions! :) Enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

 _In which pieces fall into place._

Draco crawled into bed that night smelling of strawberries and something else that Franny couldn't quite place. Once she was sure that he was asleep, she turned in their too-large bed in their too-large home on the coast of Brighton, watching the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest in the moonlight. His tan from their time in Ho Chi Minh was quickly fading, and Franny mused that in a week he'd be back to being just as pale as he was when they'd met.

 _The prodigal son returns_ , she mused, curling her knees up to her chest in an effort to self-comfort.

The move had been a huge adjustment, especially for her. For her safety, she and Draco had moved into the Brighton mansion in the middle of the night, so she had barely seen the opulence than they were walking into.

The building itself consisted of a single floor with a two-story tower tucked away into the back—a tower which housed an extensive library that joined into the luxurious master bedroom they were now in. The bedroom, with its reading nook, open-air bath that connected to the rose garden and a walk-in closet that was easily thrice the size of their Vietnam apartment, took up most of the east wing, separated from the rest of the house by utility rooms, empty bedrooms, Draco's study and a pocket garden that led to a comfortable den. An impressive ballroom took up most of the west wing, along with the kitchens, dining rooms (yes, more than one) and other spaces that she had yet to explore.

Not that she had needed proof that he was telling the truth about his wealth, but her jaw had dropped the next morning upon waking up to it. She was used to the small townhouse she had grown up in, the cramped apartments she had called home in her teens—pretty much the kind of houses where everyone else could hear if you so much as sneezed. Now, living in a house with a ballroom and rooms that seemed to change whenever she went into them, unnerved her, the echoes of her conversations with herself reverberating in her bones. Having lived in bustling cities all her life, the quiet of the English countryside did nothing but echo the loneliness she felt at being cooped up in the house like some secret concubine.

Of course, that wasn't what she was. She just had to hold out until the gala, when they could safely establish their story. She understood that her boyfriend's father was a dangerous man and that people would try to hurt him through her despite being in jail, and so she had spent the last few weeks perusing the enormous library to learn more about wizarding history. The fact that this whole other world existed hardly fazed her; a part of her had always known there was something more to the universe than what she had been taught to see—so she had eagerly spent her time learning what she could. If Draco was indeed royalty in this society, then it wouldn't do for her to be completely clueless when it came to their customs. She'd never really cared what people said or thought, but she knew instinctively that in this world, it mattered to him. She would just have to suck it up.

When she wasn't in the library reading, she was in the home gym-cum-combat room in the east wing that Draco had been thoughtful enough to have built for her. The speed at which magic worked amazed her—the room had been finished for her within days, complete with an arsenal of weapons straight from his family's personal collection.

What most guys never understood was that Franny loved to fight. The combat floor was where she made up for her somewhat startling lack of other "feminine" attributes. Sure, she couldn't cook or sew or DIY jackshit to save her life, but she could kick ass and play sports like the best of the boys. It had been a part of her that even Draco had taken time getting used to—that she could more than defend herself, that she didn't sniffle over getting stitches or rely on him to protect her. If the Malfoy family history were to be believed, then she wasn't surprised that a woman who didn't care about getting down and dirty was odd for him. She had always believed that your partner was a reflection of who you were—and a princess in an ivory tower Draco was not. At least, not anymore.

In the face of this whole new lifestyle, however, a fair amount of doubt had crossed Franny's mind. They came from such different worlds, and now that he was back home, she wondered if he would change his mind about her. She was just a muggle, after all (she still needed to get used to that word)—all she was good at was being sarcastic, riding a skateboard, kicking or throwing a ball around and hitting things. She didn't come from a respectable bloodline, nor did she even graduate from more than a public high school. She was just Franny. Plain, boring, nothing-special Franny, who had just happened to be the right person at the right place at the right time.

Never mind her burning jealousy that she couldn't work any magic herself. She had quietly accepted the fact that she wasn't magical a long time ago. But god help her, he...he was, even without the actual magic. Magical and apparently a filthy rich heir and so fucking beautiful in the moonlight as he slept that she felt it like a physical ache in her chest.

She couldn't shake the feeling that his life was finally happening and the last few years had been nothing but a commercial break. She wondered if any of what had happened still mattered in the grand scheme of Draco's life. If all she was now was his security blanket, to be discarded once he got back on his feet. She wondered if someday he would move on and forget her and everything they had been through.

She sighed, heavier than she intended, and Draco shifted in his sleep. Insecurity didn't suit her, she decided. He brought her with him for a reason, and just because they had barely seen or spoke to each other in the last few weeks didn't mean that he had changed his mind, right? They had been through times like these before and had always come back to each other stronger. She drank the sight of him in for a few extra seconds before she untangled herself from the bed and grabbed the folder he had returned home with.

She knew that he had gone to see Hermione to finalize the guest list for the gala, and at seeing the witch's handwriting along with her boyfriend's, she breathed a little easier. At least they had an ally in the shitstorm they were about to face.

Tucking the folder under her arm, she made for the library, intent on finding out more about each person on the list. She may not be feeling like much at the moment, but at the very least she knew what she was good at. If she wasn't a suitable match for the pureblood prince, then she sure as hell wasn't going to concede without a fight.

* * *

"Francesca Alessa Benenati, what the _fuck_ are you doing?"

Franny looked up from the comfortable nest she had made on the chaise in their bedroom, a book splayed across her lap. "Hi, honey. You're home," she grinned at her boyfriend.

Draco, already half-dressed for the gala in his tuxedo slacks, dress shirt and vest, strode across the room, silver eyes flashing dangerously. "I've been home all afternoon, dealing with the caterers and planners to make sure tonight goes off without a hitch. What the bloody hell are _you_ doing?"

"Clearly, I'm getting ready for the gala you're working so hard to make happen." She, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. For added effect, she extended a leg towards him, wiggling her toes to indicate that she was simply waiting for her nail polish to dry.

With an impatient huff, Draco cast a quick drying spell on her toes and folded his arms across his chest, towering over her imperiously. "Didn't I get a beautician to come over and help you get ready? Fran, people are due to arrive in-" He checked the time. "-half an hour. And you're not even dressed."

"You're hella cute when you're all riled up." she stated, flashing him a seductive smile.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "If you, young lady, for one second think that you're going to distract me with your feminine wiles, you have another thing coming." He bent down and plucked the book out of her lap. "What is this anyway? _Hogwarts: A History_?" He paused, staring at the bulky leather bound volume in his hands as the mental image of Granger reading a similar volume in the Hogwarts library, clad in her school uniform—all bushy hair and freckles, flashed through his mind. He tossed the book onto the chaise and shook his head free of the memory. Tonight was crucial—he couldn't afford to get distracted by the witch and the conflicting emotions she brought with her.

Turning back to his girlfriend, he nudged her knee with his own. "Now can you get your arse in gear? I just want tonight over and done with." he grumbled. Franny rolled her eyes and rose from her comfortable position, but before she could turn away he caught her in his arms, bending to burrow his face in the crook of her neck. She automatically wrapped her arms around him, a hand massaging between his shoulder blades as he breathed in the scent of her to calm himself down.

"Everything will be fine," she reassured him, knowing that he was just cranky from nerves. "I'm sure the ballroom looks amazing, and everything will go just as we planned."

Draco took another deep breath before pulling away from her. "Have I told you how wonderful you are lately?" he said seriously. She gazed up at him with a coy smile, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek. Leaning into her touch, his eyelids fluttered closed. "Everything will be better after tonight, Fran, I promise."

 _If you say so_ , she thought wryly. Instead she gave him a quick kiss on the lips before padding over to their closet. She shed her robe and slipped into a backless silk ball gown with a cowl neckline that was such a light grey it looked almost white. As he trailed after her, shrugging into his own tuxedo jacket and silver cufflinks, she did her make-up at the vanity: a dark smoky eye and a wine-red lip that contrasted with the simple dress. She slid into her heels as he worked product into his hair, which was now sporting a new cut—long on top and faded at the sides, a sleek pompadour that emphasized his jawline without making him look too boyish.

Franny swept her long black waves to one side and fixed them in place with a jeweled clip before crossing the walk-in to stand next to him in front of the mirror. He was fidgeting with his bowtie, which was the same grey as her dress. "How do I look?" she asked, trying to hide how awkward she felt.

With simple diamond and emerald earrings that he had picked out from one of the Malfoy vaults (after making sure they weren't cursed, of course), paired with the crystal necklace he had gotten for her years back, she looked stunning—beautiful enough to turn every head but subtly so that people wouldn't ask too many questions. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn she was another witch in attendance. Draco grinned at their reflection.

"Well fuck me sideways, Benenati. If I'd known you cleaned up this well, I would have taken you to fancier places."

She stuck her tongue out at him and punched him playfully in the arm. "If you had paraded me around like an accessory, Malfoy, I would have left you a long time ago."

He turned his gaze from their reflection to her green eyes, which were dark with anxiety and nerves. He curled an arm around her waist (had she lost weight in the last two weeks?) and pressed his lips to her forehead. "But that's not what I'm doing tonight."

"No, it's not," she said, a bit sadly.

"I'm not ashamed of you, Ces. You know that, right?"

She stared at the buttons on his shirt, which were at eyelevel, and smoothed her fingertips over the lapel of his jacket. "I know, I know. No one can know about us for my own safety, I get it."

He cleared his throat and turned back to the mirror, meeting her gaze there. "So what's the story?"

"We met in New York and I'm here as your acquaintance. I offer no more information and no less," she recited. "I am to head down to the ballroom at approximately 8:45, once you're done greeting your guests in the foyer. I will only accept drinks that you give me, and if I smell something fishy I am to ask you our security question to confirm that it is, indeed, you. If there is any trouble I'm supposed to take an emergency portkey, which will take me to your Uncle Arcturus."

"And you are to-"

"And I am to avoid the press at all costs, especially Pansy Parkinson." she finished with exasperation. "Honestly, Drake. I told you, I know everyone in attendance by face and by reputation. I will not embarrass or humiliate you tonight. I will be your charming little American friend." _No more, no less_ , she added in her head.

"I know you won't, love," he conceded, an unspoken apology in his eyes. He tugged her closer to his side. "We look good together, don't you think?"

"You think?" she raised an eyebrow, smirking at him. And they did. Sure, they had dressed up for nights out before, but never to this extent. She had never, save for senior prom, worn a dress anywhere near as expensive or beautiful as the one she was wearing now. Franny noted that if she turned her head just right and stuck her chin up a little bit higher, she could almost pass as an actual lady. "Now off with you. I'll see you in half an hour."

He gave her a swift kiss on the cheek, a slap on the bum and a brief grin before fixing his hair one last time and disappearing out the bedroom door.

Franny stood in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection of a girl she barely even recognized. "So," she said to her reflection, placing her hands on her waist. "What the fuck do princesses do while waiting?"

* * *

Just to make her wizard squirm, Franny slipped into the ballroom at exactly ten past nine. The party was in full swing, with guests milling about the cavernous ballroom to the music of a jazz band. The invitation had specified "muggle formal attire," and yet here and there she spotted people dressed in flowing robes of varying colors. She assumed they simply didn't have normal black tie clothes. Her eyebrows furrowed at the thought. How could an entire functioning society keep themselves so secluded from the rest of the world, refusing to adopt even the most convenient customs? She shook her head of the troubling thought. Not for the first time since they moved to England, she wrote it off as wizards being odd and left it at that.

She didn't have to look very hard for her not-date as he was standing near the balcony doors, talking to an imposing-looking man dressed in sweeping black robes. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and made a beeline for them.

"I appreciate your attendance tonight, Minister Shacklebolt. I trust that all is well at the Ministry?"

"As well as we can hope, Mister Malfoy. People are, of course, still recovering, and it will take time for the Ministry to earn that trust back from its constituents."

"I actually have a few ideas as to how the Malfoy businesses can assist in that regard. Now that I've returned, I plan to redirect a lot of the focus of research and development into education, healthcare and infrastructure, which I hope the Ministry can also benefit from. Four years is long enough to achieve stability. I believe it's time to forge forward."

If the other man had looked surprised, he did a damned good job of hiding it. "I'd be interested to hear your propositions, Mister Malfoy. Perhaps at a more suitable venue. Tuesday morning at 9am in my office?"

Draco nodded, raising his glass to the other man. By then Franny had appeared next to them, gracing them both with warm smiles. "Minister, if I may introduce you to an acquaintance of mine. This is Francesca Benenati."

Franny extended her hand for him to shake. "A pleasure, Minister Shacklebolt,"

He took the proffered hand and looked at her curiously. "The pleasure is mine, miss Benenati."

"Oh goodness, please call me Francesca. 'Miss Benenati' sounds like my grandmother." she chided with a delicate wave of her hand.

"I knew a Benenati once, perhaps old enough to be your grandmother? She was from a long line of Seers from Italy."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and next to her Draco took a deep swig of his whiskey. She spared him a curious glance before flashing another charming smile at the other man. "Unfortunately, I doubt we're related. I was born and bred in the US. I do apologize for intruding on your conversation, but I was wondering if I could have a word with you, Draco?"

Shacklebolt nodded at the younger wizard. "I'll see you on Tuesday, Mister Malfoy."

"Thank you, Minister. Enjoy the party." Draco called him as he turned and left them. He offered Franny his arm, and the two made their way to the bar, where Draco had a fresh bottle of champagne opened and served for her. He let out a long breath. "That went surprisingly well. That man is known for making people cry at meetings."

"You're such a wuss," Franny teased, taking sip from her champagne flute. "He seems like a big cuddly grizzly to me."

Draco snorted. "You're cute."

"I know." She grinned at him before the opening of the ballroom doors caught her eye. "Well, look who's fashionably late. I'm assuming that's the Golden Trio?"

Draco followed her gaze to the doors, where indeed Harry Potter stood, flanked by his wife, the Weaslette, the Weasel and Granger. He took another swig of his whisky at the sight of Hermione, who had her curls tamed into a messy chignon and was dressed in a green lace number. _Slytherin green_ , he corrected himself. He wondered if she was trying to make a statement on his behalf. "Indeed," he replied in a tone devoid of emotion.

"I'm assuming the guy with the glasses is the infamous Harry Potter?" Franny pressed, sounding almost bored.

"You would assume correctly."

"And the one who looks like he'd rather have an enema than be here is Ron Weasley?"

Draco snorted into his drink, a smile curling at his lips. "Right on the money, or lack thereof."

Franny smirked, one so similar to Draco's that pride fluttered in his chest. "What's say I make him feel more welcome," she stated, smoothing out an imaginary crease in her skirt.

"Play nice, Francesca." he warned, eyeing the group as Granger caught sight of him and tugged them in his direction.

She refilled her flute, tucked the bottle under her arm and turned to leave. "Always, love." She flashed him a wink. "But I don't promise to play fair." And with that she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Draco to deal with his new guests.

"Malfoy!" Hermione greeted, a tad breathless from the walk across the ballroom. Ginny and Harry trailed after her, the former looking like a cat who had just found her new scratching post and the former looking pensive. She'd practically had to drag Ron, poking him sharply in the back to get him to move across the room and greet their host. Hermione hoped that she didn't look too eager to see him and covertly ran her tongue over her teeth for the twelfth time that night to ensure she didn't have anything stuck in them.

"Granger," Draco nodded at her, the very image of aristocratic poise. "Nice to see you again."

Ron turned to Hermione, shock coloring his features. "Wussat s'posed to mean, 'Mione? You've seen him before tonight?"

Hermione grimaced, forcing a smile onto her face. "Yes, Ronald. I wasn't aware I had to check in with you regarding who I spent my time with," she replied flatly.

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Harry cut him off. "Thanks for the invitation, Malfoy. I hadn't even been aware that you left Britain."

"Curious, that." Ginny cut in, pretending to study her fingernails. "Were you trying to escape from the new regime? Some guilt you wanted to hide?"

"Ginny!" Hermione hissed. "The lot of you promised to behave!"

Draco smirked. "Although I appreciate you trying to defend me, Granger, the new Mrs. Potter has a valid point." He gestured for the waiter to serve them champagne before turning to Ginny, staring at her so intently that she was forced to meet his gaze. "No, I wasn't trying to _escape_ anything. I decided that I wanted to do some travelling, so I spent some time in Europe and South America before a few years in the States," he explained.

"The _muggle_ parts of it, if _The Prophet_ is to be believed," Ginny responded coolly. "What brought on the sudden change of heart, Malfoy?"

Draco chortled. "Merlin, curious little Weaslette aren't you? You'd give Skeeter a run for her money." Ginny flushed at that, and Harry visibly tensed. "Oh, relax, Potter. I hardly think this is the time or place for you to whip out your wand and hex me. I'd like to hope that we're all too mature for that now." He shot Ron a pointed look. "I simply meant that I do admire a woman who asks the right questions. And yes, Ginevra. Those sojourns were in the muggle world."

"So we're just supposed to believe that you've turned over a new leaf? That all this isn't some ploy to get back into the Ministry's good graces while you round up your Death Eater friends behind everyone's backs?" Ron demanded.

Draco fixed him with a blank gaze, inwardly admiring the startling shade of puce that the other wizard was turning. "Sorry to disappoint, but you lot more than anyone should know that it's a path that leads nowhere." he deadpanned. "Fortunately, I have bigger plans for my own life, thanks."

"Like anything out of your mouth is worth believing."

Harry massaged the bridge of his nose, visibly trying to restrain his temper. At him or at his best friend, Draco wasn't sure. Before he could decide, Granger had once again risen to his defense.

"Ronald Weasley," she reprimanded. "The Death Eaters who deserve punishment for their war crimes have been dealt with, as Harry can attest. Malfoy was cleared of all charges, _and_ he's served his time. He was a kid, just like the rest of us—except _he_ didn't have a choice in the matter. He was fighting for his family, just...on the wrong side."

Amazing, really, Draco thought, how the Weasel had turned into a lava lamp. He wondered if the other wizard was aware that he was now approximately three different shades of red—not even counting his hair.

"Exactly my point! He got off easy, he-"

"Ronald." Harry cut in before Ron could say any more. "Malfoy has been under watch by the Ministry, just like all former Death Eaters. He hasn't used Dark Magic since well before the Battle of Hogwarts. I should know; I checked the trace on him when we received the invitation." At that, he regarded Draco with a strange look that the other wizard couldn't quite place. "Remember what he and his mother did for us during the Battle. If the man wants to booze us up and convince us that he truly has changed, then I think we at least owe him the chance." Harry held Draco's gaze, his head tilted ever-so slightly to the side, the strange look gone and replaced by one that looked like he was studying him and couldn't quite figure him out.

Ron, on the other hand, stared at his best friend incredulously. "First Hermione, now you! Bloody hell, the world has gone mental!" With that, he stormed off. No one made a move to follow him.

After a few tense seconds, Harry took a sip of his drink and cleared his throat. "Lovely home, Malfoy," he offered.

Ginny's eyes glimmered. "Indeed. I would have expected you to move back into the Manor."

At that, Draco couldn't help but flash her a sneer, forcing Ginny to take an involuntary step back. "Unfortunately, that place carries just as many bad memories for me as for the lot of you." He set his drink down on the bar. "If you'll excuse me, I have to attend to my other guests. I do hope you enjoy your evening."

With a slight bow, he left.

* * *

Franny watched from afar as the former schoolmates had their awkward reunion. Of the four, only Hermione seemed genuinely happy to see Draco, and from what she could see her boyfriend was trying valiantly to be civil as the redheads pounced on him. To his credit, Potter looked like he was trying to keep the peace between the small group. It had been a small miracle that the meeting had taken place by the bar, secluded from the rest of the guests.

When Ron stormed off, Franny smiled into her drink, starting her count to 500. She'd give him five minutes to cool off before heading over to fuck with his head a little bit. After all, this wasn't the kind of party she was used to, and apart from a few curious glances, no one had paid her any attention. That had been the point of the evening: for her to be seen and associated with Draco so that it wouldn't come as a shock when they finally did announce their relationship. Truth be told, she hated that their personal life was fair game for the press—it was a good thing that she actually liked games.

All it meant was that she could have a little fun on the side. If Draco's stories were to be believed, then throwing Ronald Weasley through a loop would be ample entertainment for her evening.

She reached 500 just as she pushed the doors to the balcony open. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, stepping out into the cool summer breeze.

The redhead turned around, his face returned to its normal color. He was well-built, Franny noted. Wide-shouldered and stocky, his long frame hidden behind well-toned muscles from playing Quidditch. With an adorable smattering of freckles on his boy-next-door face, it was funny to her that he was exactly her type. Or would have been, if she hadn't fallen in love with Draco.

Ron shrugged with barely a glance at her and turned back to the railing. She joined him, hoisting herself up to sit and crossing her legs at the ankle. "Are you contemplating running away to the circus, too?"

He gave a wry laugh. "It's enough of one in there."

She smiled, watching the crowd mill around the dance floor. "So how do you know the host?"

Ron grunted and swiped his glass to take a deep swig. "He and I went to school together."

"He seems kind of uppity to me," she pointed out, wrinkling her nose.

"That's the understatement of the century. Malfoy's a prat." He fixed his blue eyes on her, eying her up and down as though seeing her for the first time. "How 'bout you, then? How d'you know him?"

"Clearly, to recruit him for the circus," she lied smoothly. She returned his gaze, giving him a long once-over that made his cheeks flush. "You look familiar. Are you famous or something?" _Good job,_ she said to herself. _Play the ego_.

At that, Ron turned completely red in the face. "You aren't from here." he stated.

She laughed. "No, I'm not. I'm from the States," she explained, taking another sip of champagne.

"I'm Ron Weasley." He turned and gracelessly shoved a hand at her.

"Francesca Benenati." She smiled coyly, taking his hand and making it so their handshake lingered just a tad too long. "So indulge me, Mister Weasley. Am I in the presence of a celebrity? Should I be asking for your autograph?" she teased.

Ron shook his head and jumped up to sit next to her in one fluid motion. A little too close. _Perfect_. "I dunno 'bout that." he grinned, scratching the back of his neck. "I, erm, I play Keeper for the Chudley Cannons."

She clapped her hands together, looking for all the world like a ditzy teenager. "Oh my gosh, that's _amazing_. So tell me, how good are you with your broom?" Ron almost coughed up his drink, sputtering into his glass. Franny giggled. "I'm kidding! I'm sure you're very good with your broom." She winked at him, adjusting to brush her hand casually against his as he coughed and tried to regain his dignity. She peered at him from under her lashes. "Now that introductions are out of the way, I say we plan exactly what we'll be doing at the circus we're running away to. I mean, clearly, we can't stay here. It's the only sensible course of action we can take."

"Is it now?" Ron smiled at her.

"Oh, of course!" she said, wide-eyed. "We all have to play a part, though. You, mister famous Quidditch player, could be the warm-up act to my astounding hippogriff-taming skills. I would say…" She tapped a finger to her lips. "Flaming bludgers as my dancing hippogriff bats them at you. The crowd would roar. We'd make a killing!"

"Or get killed," Ron pointed out, leaning back on his arms. If he was trapped at sodding Malfoy's sodding debutante ball, he decided, then meeting a bloody gorgeous girl who was funny to boot was only fair—he would be fool not to make the most of it. "Why'm I the warm-up act, though? Wouldn't that make us a team?"

She grinned, knowing she had him. _Too easy._ "Why, Mister Weasley, I believe you have me there." She mimicked his action, leaning back so their shoulders pressed together as they watched the party in companionable silence for a few moments. "I do believe it would."

* * *

Draco had just come out of the smoking room, his spirits high from a fruitful conversation he'd just had with the new head of Magical Law Enforcement—coincidentally, Potter's superior. The man had been wary of him at first, but Draco had reasoned his case out eloquently, and the man had agreed to let him send a proposal for mental health care and therapy for convicted criminals to his office, promising to endorse it to other pertinent departments as well.

The whole evening was going off without a hitch, and upon the conclusion of that conversation, he ticked off the last task on his mental to-do list. He'd spoken to everyone he had intended to, and no one had attempted to hex him to his knowledge. It was, he congratulated himself, thus far a flawless evening—save for the little altercation with the Golden Trio plus Weaslette. He had been expecting a couple of barbs, but the accusations Ginny had made admittedly unnerved him. He was prepared to have mud slung at him, just not quite so soon and to his face.

He had just gotten himself another drink at the bar (he really should slow down on that to keep his wits about him), but he reasoned that he deserved the reward. Before he could indulge, however, one of the people he had been keen to avoid the whole evening joined him.

"Draco!" Pansy said, her casual use of his given name unable to mask her chilly tone. She gave him a curt kiss on either cheek, sizing him up. "I'm so glad you've returned."

Casting a quick look around to ensure that no one could overhear them, Draco slipped back into his mask of casual indifference. "You can drop the act, Pansy. I know you aren't glad to see me."

The witch let out a derisive laugh and took a sip from her cocktail. "Why Draco, luv, whatever would make you think that?"

Draco regarded her with a condescending glare. "You haven't returned any of my owls. But as the new editor-in-chief of _The Prophet_ , I should cut you some slack. I'm sure you've kept busy, realigning your alliances."

"Self-preservation and all that," Pansy replied with a distracted wave of her hand. "Truth be told I hardly believed it when Blaise fire-called me with the news. I'm sure you wouldn't mind that the journalist in me is intrigued. There's much more to the story than this whole evening and your press release will have everyone believe, and I intend to find out the truth of it."

Draco quietly watched the crowd, reminding himself to watch his words in case she was recording their conversation. "And I'm sure the Slytherin in you will use every weapon in your arsenal to accomplish that. I apologize in advance if you get to the bottom of this alleged mystery and find yourself sorely disappointed."

Pansy tutted, moving in so close that Draco could smell the harsh perfume she had been wearing since their fourth year. "Now, now, Draco. You forget how well I actually know you. We all have our secrets, and we all have the right to them." She laid a delicate hand on his shoulder, digging her long nails in ever so slightly. "Fortunately for you, you'll find that I actually have your interests in mind. We're on the same side now," she whispered in his ear. "But I'm afraid I can't trust you until you give me what I need."

He grimaced, taking a sip of his whiskey and finding that it burned a little more harshly as it went down his throat. "And what's that, Parkinson?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Tell me what you're hiding, Draco. Blaise and I will help you protect it."

At that moment, he caught a glimpse of Franny entering the ballroom from the balcony, her cheeks flushed from drink and a smile on her full red lips. Possessiveness clutched at his chest. He averted his eyes quickly, hoping Pansy hadn't noticed. "In return for what?" he shot back, trying to maintain his air of indifference.

Pansy smiled at him a tad sadly. "Slytherins stick together, Drake." He had to restrain himself from snorting at the irony of her statement. "That much hasn't changed," she added firmly, noting that he had tensed. "I can't apologize for not keeping in touch, but I had to be sure. If you decide that you want our protection, you know where to find us."

Draco subconsciously cast his eyes back to the crowd, looking for another sign of Franny—if only to reassure himself that she was alright. She had disappeared back into the cavernous ballroom, and he tried to quiet the panic that had creeped into him. He was being irrational, he told himself. He had taken every possible measure to ensure her safety, but still, Pansy's offer seemed tempting despite his instinct to be wary.

"Soon," he acceded. "I'll speak with you and Blaise soon."

* * *

The party had wound down considerably by the time Hermione finally caught sight of Malfoy again. She tailed him until he saw a few more guests off by floo before cornering him.

"Malfoy," she called.

Draco turned, scanning the crowd for who had said his name before his gaze finally settled on her. To Hermione's surprise, he smiled warmly. "Granger." He nodded for her to follow him to a small sitting area in a corner of the ballroom.

Once they had settled by a bay window that overlooked the grounds, Hermione jumped right into what had been bothering her since their last meeting. "You used wandless magic," she stated breathlessly.

Draco leaned back into his seat, steepling his fingers before him as he regarded her with amusement. "You appear at my gala dressed in Slytherin green, a clear sign to any and all who are paying attention that you've allied yourself to me, then you rise to my defense to your friends' petty accusations. Now that you have my undivided attention, _that's_ what you want to discuss?" He chuckled. "You're a piece of work, Granger."

Hermione stiffened. She had indeed worn green to show her support and she shouldn't have been surprised that he had picked up on it, but he didn't have to point it out so blatantly. She'd had to force Harry, Ginny and Ron to even attend, knowing that their appearance would be more than enough to secure Draco into the public's good graces. She'd even gone as far as telling Ginny that she had run into him in Vietnam to prove that she truly believed the wizard had changed. All that had been automatic for her, as he was now filed under 'people I care about' in her head, but still, she didn't appreciate how transparent he made her seem.

"So what if I used wandless magic?" Draco continued, tethering her back to the conversation.

Hermione bristled at the statement. "So what? _So what_?" she hissed, leaning forward in her seat, for the moment uncaring that she was wrinkling the fine lace of her gown. "Precious few wizards have the ability to do that, and even then it's only after years of meditation and training. There are fewer people who have been able to practice wandless magic than there are animagi, and all you have to say is _so what_!"

Draco raised an eyebrow at her vehement response, his upper lip curled. "Years, you say. I managed it in one summer," he stated, just to piss her off.

It appeared to have the intended effect, as Hermione collapsed against her chair, staring at him incredulously. "You learned wandless magic in one summer," she repeated, hardly able to believe it.

"You're not as entertaining when you repeat everything I say," Draco deadpanned. "If you're worried that the trace doesn't catch it, you don't have to. Potter can tell you himself that traces are made on the wizard themselves, not on the wand."

She pressed a hand to her forehead, willing herself to calm down. "That isn't my point and you know it! I _know_ you weren't using your magic until you got back to Britain—I saw you myself. The point is that you're one of maybe fifty wizards around the world who can manage it. And with ease, at that."

Curious, it was Draco who leaned forward this time. Wandless magic had been an accidental discovery for him. All he'd done the summer of his house arrest had been reading up on the theory behind it and practicing spells-he hadn't cared about its history. "With ease? What makes you say that?" he prodded.

Hermione straightened in her seat. "Casting elemental spells are difficult for even the average witch or wizard." _Like me and my bluebell flames_ , she reminded herself. "You lit the fire at the public floo with barely a thought. That isn't normal, Draco. That isn't something everyone can do," she explained, minding to keep her voice low in case someone could overhear them.

"Well, I could have told you I was _above average_ , Granger. Always have been. You're supposed to be bright, how are you only picking up on that now?"

She had to keep herself from growling at him. She ignored the innuendo and gave him a swift kick to the shin instead. He barely flinched. "You need to teach me," she stated, crossing her arms.

"You look like McGonnagal when you do that," he pointed out. "And I don't _need_ to do anything."

"Listen, Malfoy, you're probably the first wizard in generations with the ability. And you. Will. Teach me." She poked him in the chest with a finger to emphasize each word.

Up close and in a well-lit room, Draco noted that her eyes weren't actually brown. He had been wrong all these years, he realized with mild amusement. They weren't the color of mud, or of dried blood like he'd always assumed. No, Hermione's eyes were hazel and chestnut at the same time, the black of her irises haloed by a band of gold. After a moment that seemed to stretch out far too long, Draco leaned back into his seat. He knew he should probably just agree—after all, he did owe her a favor ( _or two_ , a small voice in the back of his head pointed out). Chances were she wouldn't even be able to so much as levitate a feather, but still, he couldn't help but aggravate her. He had almost forgotten how fun it was. "If I'm as special as you say I am, I really shouldn't go about sharing my secrets then, should I?" he shot back.

She was angry now, he was sure. She opened her mouth to tell him off when overcast shadows alerted them to company.

"See, even Hermione still argues with him," Ginny stated, sliding onto the couch, making it clear that she and her husband had just been talking about the Malfoy heir. Harry joined her, draping an arm around his wife.

"'Mione, d'you know where Ron is? I haven't seen him in hours." Harry asked.

Still flustered from her conversation with Draco and upset at the interruption, Hermione glared at him. "I'm not his keeper, Harry."

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. "Alright, but I wouldn't trust him to go around Malfoy's house unchaperoned." Harry shrugged. Raising his glass at Draco, he said, "To you, Malfoy. For a splendid evening. May you have the best of luck avoiding all the new cursed objects in your home."

To the Potters' surprise, Draco actually laughed. Ginny went pale as Harry's eyes went wide. "I appreciate the sentiment, Potter, but the house is warded so no one can go exploring. He's either out on the grounds or passed out drunk in a corner." Turning to Hermione, he tutted. "You really should take better care of your pets. A shorter leash comes to mind."

"Sod off, Malfoy. I'm no one's pet."

Ron appeared behind them, his evening jacket folded over one arm. While he looked flushed from drinking, he didn't look like he had gotten himself into any trouble. He glared at Draco before turning to his sister and best friends. "I just spent the last two hours trying to get away from Craster and his wife. The woman can talk a mile a minute, and the guy wouldn't stop shaking me," he explained, giving an involuntary shudder. "I think they were a swinger couple that was trying to get me interested."

Before Draco could make a joke, he continued, "Are you lot ready then? Because while this evening has been enchanting, I have about seventy billion other things I'd rather be doing."

"Charming guest, you are." Draco said dryly. "Remind me to invite you over for brunch next week."

"Shut up, Malfoy. No one's talking to you." Ron snapped.

The other wizard simply shrugged, his signature smirk planted firmly on his face. "The offer stands. For the lot of you, too." He nodded at the Potters before meeting Hermione's eyes. "I'm sure Fran would love to see you again."

Hermione's mouth went dry and her skin went cold. Franny. He had returned with Franny. _Stupid, stupid!_ she screamed in her head. What in Merlin's name had she been THINKING. This _is why you need to test your hypothesis in a controlled environment, Hermione!_ she reminded herself. She regretted having been so excited for the evening. And to think, the girl had been at the party the whole time! What if she had seen her looking for Draco the whole night? Mortified, Hermione wanted nothing but to bury her face into her hands and never come back up for air.

But the universe had other plans and, as always, possessed impeccable timing. As if on cue, Franny swept into their small circle in a flash of grey silk and silver. "I heard my name. Singing my praises again, Drake?" she purred, handing him a glass of whisky. "I told you Minister Shacklebolt is a total cuddle bear. He invited me over to his house next Sunday to see the field of girasoli in his backyard."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, seemingly impressed, before he tipped his head at the rest of the group. Franny turned, looking as though she'd just noticed them. Merlin, she was good when she actually tried. Draco actually found himself a little afraid of his own girlfriend, and he berated himself for having been so afraid for her safety. Franny could always manage her own.

"Oh, Mai! I've been looking forward to seeing you all night!" She crossed over and swept Hermione up in a hug before flashing her a giant and completely genuine grin. "I would have sent you an owl, but none of the ones in our owlery seem to like me." She gave a small, self-deprecating shrug as if to say 'well, what can you do?' and turned to the couple sitting on the couch. "Where are my manners? Hello, I'm Francesca," she said cheerfully, ignoring the holes that Ron's stare was burning into the back of her head.

Ginny was gaping at her, so Harry was the one who accepted her handshake for them. "Pleasure. I'm Harry. This is my wife Ginny."

The red-head seemed to finally find her voice. "Er, nice to meet you," she said, tossing Hermione a look over Franny's shoulder that seemed to indicate that the other witch now owed her a very lengthy and incredibly detailed explanation.

Hermione massaged at her temple with one hand. This was definitely not the evening she'd had in mind.

Franny settled on the armrest of Draco's seat, and Draco proceeded to rest a hand on her knee, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. His hand lingered, rubbing small circles into her silk skirt—a gesture that Draco made sure Weasley caught.

True to form, Ron's eyes widened as Franny laughed at what Draco was whispering to her. "How, _exactly_ , do you two know each other?" he demanded, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he slowly realized that he'd been played.

Franny tossed him an indifferent glance, more out of polite compulsion to answer a question than actual interest, but it was Draco who replied. "My apologies, Weasley. Have you met my girlfriend, Francesca? Fran, this is Ronald Weasley."

The girl smirked at the red-headed wizard, raking her eyes up and down his form. "I've had the pleasure, actually."

"I'm sorry, you've _what_?" Ginny blurted out, catching the obvious gesture.

Franny tilted her head to the side, looking at her curiously. "Did I say something offensive?" she asked, sounding genuinely anxious. "If I did, I'm sorry. I'm new to all of these customs, your culture."

Harry laughed out loud, the first to catch on. "Are you serious, Malfoy? Or is this an act just to fuck with us?"

Ron turned to Harry, and Draco imagined that he could see the smoke coming out of his ears as he sorted it out in his head. "Wait, our culture? But she…blimey, Malfoy. Is she a _muggle_?"

Franny rolled her eyes and Draco hid his smirk behind his glass as he took another welcome sip of his drink. Ron looked to Hermione for confirmation, but all she did was shoot him a warning glare.

"Yes, Franny is a muggle. And yes, she's Malfoy's girlfriend." Hermione announced primly, pulling her shoulders back and sitting up straighter. She looked at Ron as though daring him to say anything further about it.

Ron tossed her an annoyed glance and turned to Harry instead. He pointed an accusing finger at the fair-haired wizard. "Mate, you need to check if he's Imperioused her!"

Looking mildly entertained, Harry tipped his glass to Draco in unspoken recognition before taking a drink. "She isn't, mate." he replied simply.

Ron turned to his sister, who shrugged and regarded Draco and Franny with a look that was almost…impressed. "I read the reports myself, Ron. Not only has Malfoy not used Dark Magic since the war, he hadn't used _any_ magic at all from the day he graduated Hogwarts to the day he arrived here."

"That's a load of bull," Ron insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. "He must have found a loophole, or had someone else do magic for him. There's no way Malfoy would give up magic and live with _muggles_ , for Chrissakes. Muggles!"

"When you say it like that, I'm almost insulted." Franny said, a hand to her heart in mock offense. "Are all wizards really this prejudiced against us?" she asked Hermione, who was too shocked at her best friend's conduct to respond to the query.

Said best friend had already turned red again. "ME!? I'm not prejudiced! Your boyfriend is fucking prejudiced!" he spat. "There's no way in bloody hell that this tosser would ever give up his magic!"

"You wound me, Weasley, truly." Draco deadpanned. "And here I thought we knew each other so well."

Franny barked out a laugh. "Don't look so concerned with my well-being, Ron." She winked at him. "Believe me, Draco has retained _all_ of his skills with his wand."

Hermione flushed, and Ginny giggled despite herself. Ron glared at them, and Ginny looked at him in silent apology. Harry, fighting to keep the smile off his face, cleared his throat and rose from the couch.

"Well, this has been quite the evening," he said blandly, motioning for Ginny and Hermione to join him. "But it's getting late, and I'm sure you have other guests to attend to." He reached out and shook Franny's hand. "It was nice meeting you, Francesca." Hesitating only a second, he extended his hand to Draco as well. "Thank you for having us."

Draco stood, taking the proffered hand and giving it a curt shake. "Always a pleasure, Potter," he said, voice devoid of any emotion.

"But she…at the balcony!" Ron sputtered.

Draco smirked. "Francesca," he pretended to chide. "We really must work on you reigning in that charm of yours."

The muggle girl grinned at her boyfriend and gave a small, graceful shrug. "He seemed to enjoy my company well enough earlier," she argued, hopping off her perch on the armrest. She moved forward, giving Ginny and Hermione each a kiss on the cheek. She lingered at Hermione, taking the witch's hand in her own. "We should catch up soon. Come visit," she whispered, smiling conspirationally.

Hermione nodded, staring at Draco expectantly. "I'll be in touch, Malfoy." _Don't forget what we discussed_ , she added mentally, regaining her composure and sending him a pointed look. She silently made a promise to herself to never get her hopes up in the wizard again.

As Draco and Franny walked them to the floo, Ron grabbed Hermione's arm, bending down to whisper in her ear. "You have a lot of explaining to do, 'Mione," he said through gritted teeth.

She let out a small sigh and nodded. "Come over for some te-coffee," she finished quietly. She would definitely not be drinking tea for a while. She gave Harry and Ginny a cautious look, and Ginny narrowed her eyes at her with a mock-threatening gesture. With that, Hermione knew that the four of them would all be heading to her apartment to debrief about the evening.

Franny gave her a small wave and a grin as they reached the grate. Hermione noted that once they were back in view of the rest of the party, they had separated to stand at least two feet from each other. The gears clicked in Hermione's head. _That_ was why he hadn't mentioned her. _Bugger all_ , she thought. Her stupid crush on the man had clouded her judgement. The last time she had seen them, they'd been in love. She had been fool to think that would have changed just because he'd returned. It was a smart move, keeping her presence quiet to protect her. Now she just had to get Ron's story to make some sense of the evening.

She grabbed a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the flames, her friends trailing behind her.

"Alright, Granger." Draco nodded, eyes crinkled up at the edges in faint amusement despite his lips forming a grim line.

Once again, Hermione met his mercurial gaze, trying to hide the riot in her chest from showing on her face. "Alright, Malfoy," she replied, disappearing in a swirl of emerald flames.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 _In which plans move forward  
_

Draco hadn't made room for a lot of emotions since he left the wizarding world all those years ago. When once he'd been consumed by regret, guilt, self-loathing and rage, he'd made the conscious effort to wake up every day with a mental list of all the emotions that he _wanted_ to feel. Happiness was one. Gratefulness, another, along with joy and curiosity and fulfillment. Having bedded death and misery so many times, he'd vowed to experience everything he'd missed as a child—to spend the rest of his life in the pursuit of becoming the person that he could have been if he hadn't been born a Malfoy, his father's son.

In the early months of his exile, he'd considered it an impossibility that the walls surrounding his heart would come crashing down, or for his rotted soul to come anywhere close to recovery. But then he met Franny, the only person he still cared about in the world, who had unfailingly held his hand through the arduous task of opening himself up to the world, to all the things he wanted from it. He still remembered the day it happened, waking up in the wee hours of the morning in the back of a rented camper parked in the middle of Mugu State Park, a trip to the West Coast they'd taken for Franny's birthday. They'd made it to the cliffs just in time to watch the sun rise. As he sat with the Pacific sea breeze tousling his too-long hair, warm under a heavy blanket and nursing a thermos with his favorite coffee, he finally understood what it felt like to truly live. To be in charge of his own life, look forward to the future, and want to fight for things that meant something rather than run and bury hope within him like a dirty secret.

For the first time in his life Draco hadn't felt like there was a dark cloud hanging over him, waiting for him to make a fatal mistake. The Dark Lord was gone, the sun was rising, and Draco was still standing. Breathing. _Living_. He wasn't sure why he had survived and so many others hadn't—he was so sure that he deserved worse than death for the things he'd done—but he figured whatever he deserved would come around, and there was no reason for him to stay a coward and wait for it. There were as many things he could do with life as there were colors in that beautiful, fateful dawn, and he resolved to start taking action.

On his best days, the memories of the war felt like they had happened to another person. And on his bad ones, they felt like they had just been biding their time, waiting just beneath the surface for him to lower his guard before coming up and filling him with all the emotions that had sullied his soul.

Today, the Sunday morning after the ball that had gone so well, was turning out to be one of his bad days. His jaw clenched and his hands flew into fists, ready to fly, as he took in the sight of Blaise Zabini lounging in _his_ breakfast nook, _his_ copy of _The Sunday Prophet_ spread out before him, drinking _his_ coffee from one of _his_ mugs.

"Zabini," he growled, striding forward. "What in Salazar's name are you doing in my house?"

Blaise looked up and flashed him the brilliant smile that had gotten them out of trouble countless times back at school, his perfect white teeth gleaming in the morning sun. "Drake, old boy!" he greeted, ignoring the murderous look on his former-housemate's face as he crossed the room. "I wanted to extend my apologies in person for not being able to make it to the gala last night."

Draco finally got to the table, where he slammed his fists down, angrier than he had been in years. In part at Blaise for showing up unannounced after years of ignoring him, and at himself for using the same wards that he had put up at the Manor long ago—ones that permitted his friends in the vain hope that they would finally come around—and for sleeping in when he should have been awake for the magical alert to the other man's presence. "Apology made," he barked. "Now go."

Blaise, who had anticipated the action, had grabbed his mug of coffee just in time and now took a sip from it, his dark eyes dancing with amusement over the rim at the fair-haired wizard. "Don't be silly, old chap. We were just about to get reacquainted."

"I have no interest in getting reacquainted with you, Zabini."

"Oh, but Pansy and I would like to disagree." He glanced at the clock. "Speaking of, she should be around any moment now."

Draco wanted to grab the mug out of the other man's hands and throw the scalding hot drink in his face, but instead he closed his eyes and took a few calming breaths. Spoiled sodding Slytherins. "Whatever I have to discuss with you and Pansy can wait, Blaise," he said, trying to stay calm. "I have other things to attend to today."

Blaise quirked an eyebrow at him, looking him up and down. Draco was dressed in a plain white v-neck shirt, blue jeans and trainers, a grey jumper tied around his waist—a far cry from the immaculate black dress robes and suits that Blaise was accustomed to seeing on him. Not to mention the muggle tattoos that decorated his left arm. He gave the thought a tiny shake of his head. It was a small thing to go by, but donning muggle attire—such casual attire, at that—was ample proof that the man had indeed changed considerably. Blaise would have to hold off on deciding whether it was a good change or a bad one.

"We have plans today?" Franny's voice came from the doorway that led to what they had begun to refer to as their cooking kitchen, the smaller one that was for day-to-day use. She was dressed in nothing but a pair of black athletic shorts and a neon green sports bra, her dark hair tied into a sleek ponytail, and carried a tray with fried rice, eggs, bacon, pastries and two more cups of coffee. She grinned at Draco as she set the tray down on the table. "Good morning, D," she chirped.

Draco growled, taking the jumper that was around his waist and forcing her arms through it. Blaise chuckled at the gesture, causing Draco to fix him with a venomous glare that immediately made him stop. Franny rolled her eyes as she zipped it up and sank into one of the chairs, a knee curled up to her chest. Given their difference in height, the jumper ended mid-thigh on her, making it look like a dress.

When no one moved, she patted the chair next to her, indicating to Draco that he should sit. The man continued to stand, glaring at Blaise from across the table. A lesser man would have withered under the gaze, but Blaise, though out of practice, was used to it. He finally risked breaking eye contact and gave Franny an imploring look, so she took her boyfriend's hand and tugged on it slightly. "D, please sit. If Blaise wanted to hurt you, he would have run to the papers the second he arrived and found me in the training room." Still, Draco wouldn't budge. Franny sighed, taking her hand away and massaging the bridge of her nose.

Blaise cleared his throat. "She's right, mate. I'm here to help, I swear it."

"Help?" Draco repeated, feeling his reserve crumble as the hurt of the last four years lodged itself in his throat. The anger in his voice made Blaise cringe—mostly because he knew Draco had every right to it. "Help! Where were you when I needed _help_?"

The other man released a heavy sigh, and Draco watched the perfect pureblood mask slip, revealing lines on his former best-friend's face that he hadn't expected. Blaise looked tired—more tired than Draco could have imagined. The image was sobering, but Draco maintained his glower out of principle. "I have a lot to apologize for, I know. But Drake, you have to understand. Please, sit." At the man's imploring tone, Draco finally relented, but it didn't ease the tightly-knotted ball of anger in his stomach.

Blaise fixed his dark eyes on his friend once more, holding himself up straighter. "Things weren't going well for any of us after the war. As much as I wanted to reply to your owls, you were still under watch by the Ministry and any association with you would have put me under suspicion for Dark activity. My mother was completely useless, gallivanting with another husband off the coast of Spain, and I had to fight just to keep my younger siblings under my guardianship. It wasn't easy, as you would expect. I never took the Mark, but my house associations were enough cause for the Ministry to give me a hard time—foremost my associations with _you_. I couldn't risk losing my brothers and sisters. I had to deny anything that would have linked you to me. I had to make a choice, Draco. And I don't regret it because I got to keep my family. I'm only sorry that it put such distance between us." He said the last part sincerely, making Draco's ball of rage churn uncomfortably in his gut as it loosened.

As unused as he was to being wrong, he was still angry that it wasn't happening on his terms. His jaw clenched as the wards alerted him to another person arriving. _Fantastic_ , he thought. _Just perfect._ "And Pansy? What's her excuse?" he said, a little snappier than he had intended.

As if on cue, Pansy Parkinson slipped into the room, dusting her robin's blue robes off from the floo. "Pansy's excuse is that her beastly mother put her under house arrest for a full summer before shipping her off to Paris," she cut in just as Blaise opened his mouth to reply. She gave him a small nod in greeting, then cast her gaze over to the couple, her blue eyes widening only slightly at the sight of Franny next to Draco at the small circular table. She removed her wide-brimmed hat and set it primly on the table before taking a seat and fixing Draco with a firm stare that reminded him of her former nanny, one they had taken turns tormenting growing up. "I didn't find your letters until I moved back to London, and by then you were already gone."

Draco leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. "Terribly convenient for you lot, then," he challenged, an eyebrow raised.

At that, Pansy slammed a hand on the table. "Oh will you _drop it!_ The war wasn't just hard on you, Draco! It was hard on all of us! Need I remind you that _all_ of Slytherin House was sent to the dungeons during the final battle? That even the ones who would have fought, _wanted_ to fight, who wanted to be out there to protect their siblings in other houses or their parents who were in the Order _couldn't_ , all because I panicked and wanted to turn Potter in? That Corbin still hasn't regained full use of his right hand from wailing against the door, wanting to be out there with his parents? That Slade killed herself two years back because she hated herself for not being able to protect her little sister, who was a defenseless first-year Ravenclaw and died in the battle? All. Because. Of me." Pansy took a deep, shuddering breath, furiously wiping away the tears that threatened to spill. Blaise gave her a look that urged her to continue as he rested a hand on her knee. She nodded and resumed eye contact with Draco, who was fighting to keep his jaw from dropping.

"You aren't the only victim, Draco." Pansy stated, calmer this time. "Did you even stop to think about how we were doing? That maybe we needed you as much as you needed us? Maybe more?" Draco didn't respond, his mouth pressing into a grim line, as she looked on imploringly. "No, you didn't think about that before you disappeared. All you thought about was yourself." Pansy sniffed, and her gaze finally settled on Franny, who had been more or less invisible throughout the whole conversation. The muggle girl tensed at the attention and straightened her shoulders. "Thank you for making breakfast, dear. I'm famished."

At that, Pansy helped herself to some eggs and a roll.

Franny openly gaped at the sudden shift for a few moments before looking at Draco for any kind of prompt. It was futile, however, as Draco was staring blankly at a point just beyond Pansy's head as the witch tucked into the meal.

"No problem," Franny replied, her own voice sounding empty. "I'll, uh, get you something to drink then?"

Pansy smiled kindly at her. "Coffee as well, dear, if it's not too much trouble."

Franny nodded and made her way back to the kitchen, shaking her head and mumbling to herself about how wizards were all touched in the head.

Blaise, who had also helped himself to a plate, ate in silence next to Pansy. It was a full two minutes before Draco finally moved a muscle, and then it was only to place both hands on the table, spreading his fingers across the wooden surface—a gesture that Blaise knew to be one that indicated he was about to do something he didn't want to. Blaise tensed, eying the man warily, as he wasn't sure what it meant in this instance. Would he hex them? Kick them out of the house? Grow another head? _Apologize_? Blaise shuddered involuntarily at the thought.

Draco, knowing Blaise would know his tell, took a deep breath and made a quick list of steps to ensure that he would win the little game he'd fallen right into. The possibilities swirled in his head, all the things he wanted to say but couldn't to his Slytherin brethren, before finally settling on the most honest and harmless path he could think of. "I guess that makes all of us shitty friends," he finally said, staring at his hands.

Pansy exchanged a look with Blaise before determining that there was no malice in the statement. She crossed her arms and smirked at him.

Draco cleared his throat. "And, of course, Malfoys are the best at everything they do, so I believe I take the honor of being the shittiest." He finally lifted his eyes and met Blaise's, then Pansy's, before giving them a lopsided smirk. "I do hope the next time 'round you lot will try a little harder," he drawled, finally taking his hands from the table and resting them on his knees.

Blaise's face finally broke into a grin. _Charming mother fucker_ , Draco thought amusedly. "We'd never think of beating you at your own game, mate. Title's all yours."

Pansy sniffed, her nose in the air; a habit that Draco was sure she'd always had, even before her stay in Paris. "Yes, yes, we're all equally horrid," she said with a dismissive wave of her wand as she cast a non-verbal Silencing Charm on the room. She leaned forward, glancing at the doorway to make sure Franny wasn't going through it anytime soon. "Now that we're all a happy little den of snakes again, you owe _us_ an explanation."

Annoyed, Draco lifted the spell with a wave of his hand, just in time for Franny to bustle in with another mug of Vietnamese coffee for Pansy. He gave her a small smile, which caused her to relax her tense shoulders, before she rejoined them at the table.

"Glad to see no one's killed each other yet." Franny said, passing Pansy the drink.

Pansy took a sip and sighed contentedly. "This is delicious, dear. What is it?"

"Steeped coffee from Vietnam." Franny replied. "And my pleasure," she added, smiling.

"Drake seems to have misplaced his manners," Blaise said lightly, still grinning. Draco glared at him again, although with considerably less gusto. "This is Francesca, Draco's girlfriend."

Pansy stared at Draco, eyebrows raised. "You don't say."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Franny said quickly, cutting Draco off. "And yes, I'm, er, not magical."

Pansy hadn't broken eye contact with Draco, whose grey eyes were daring her to say anything about it. "Well, that makes things a lot more complicated than I expected."

"What were you expecting?" Draco grit out.

"That you had shacked up with Granger," Pansy said flatly, taking another sip of her coffee. "This really is delicious, dear, you simply have to tell me how you make it."

Draco flushed, the image of Hermione taking precedence in his mind. Flushed cheeks, pink lips, that ridiculous hair. He willed it away to focus on the conversation at hand. Blaise was staring at him curiously, so he tossed him an annoyed glance before speaking. "And how is that any better than the current…situation?" he asked Pansy.

"You'll pardon my language, dear," she said to Franny, ignoring Draco for the moment. "But if you're dating him, I imagine you're used to hearing all sorts of indelicate things." Franny smirked at that and nodded for her to continue, so Pansy turned to Draco. "Why, magic, of course. Muggle-borns are considered an abomination, yes, but they also have a saving grace: their ability to use magic. They can, at least, on that front, defend themselves. They are, on that front, worth sparing. Whereas muggles are scum, to be wiped off the face of the Earth. When Voldemort-" Draco's jaw clenched. "-oh, don't be silly, Drake. He's long gone. As I was saying, when Voldemort tried to take over, his goal wasn't pureblood supremacy—we all knew that; the man was half-blood himself. What he wanted was power, and the complete annihilation of all muggles." Pansy paused, studying Franny curiously before turning back to Draco, who had clenched his fists at her completely transparent appraisal of his girlfriend.

"Honestly, Drake, I was prepared to defend a relationship with a muggle-born, at worst. It would have, in fact, been easy to protect Granger-"

"Why on Earth would you even think that I would be in a relationship with Granger?" Draco cut in, trying to fight the heat that was crawling up his neck. "I hadn't even seen her until a few months ago."

"Well, there was that time in fourth year…" Blaise began. Draco cut him off with a sharp kick to the shin.

"Irrelevant," he said curtly as Blaise hissed at him and winced.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You see what I have to put up with?" she muttered under her breath to Franny, who could do nothing but nod sympathetically. In truth, it was the first time she had ever seen Draco interact so casually with other people, not even the kids at the orphanage, and it was a refreshing sight to see him with actual friends.

The witch continued. "Anyway," she said, forcing their attention back to the original topic. "Granger was the first person you went to see when you came back, and knowing you, there had to be something more than friendship there." she explained. "Well, whatever. I don't need to remind either of you that when, yes, _when_ , not _if,_ Lucius catches wind of this and your new muggle-born friend he's likely to make a move on all of your lives, not to mention the social backlash from the purebloods. Who was the last girl your mother intended for you, again?"

His nerves completely frayed at that point, Draco cradled his head in his hands, fisting his hair in frustration. It wasn't even ten in the morning and he was already nursing a headache the size of Jersey. He sighed. "Astoria Greengrass, but mother let me out of that betrothal before she died."

Pansy frowned. "That's too bad. We could have hidden behind that." She tapped a perfectly manicured finger to her lips. "Do you have any sort of plan? A way to keep her safe without keeping her a secret?"

Draco gave a sound that was halfway between a groan and a growl.

"Right then, no plan." Pansy said, sounding defeated. "No plan save for having her by your side twenty-four-seven? And what's your cover story? No one's going to buy that she's just a friend, and she can't pass for a witch. Not here."

"Thank you, Little Miss Obvious," Draco muttered. "Would you like to add anything constructive to the conversation rather than just stating the facts?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop being so sensitive," she shot back.

"Who else knows?" Blaise asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry and Ginny Potter." Franny answered.

"Wonderful." Pansy said dryly. "We have until the next issue of _Witch Weekly_ before news of your relationship gets out." When Draco looked at her with a shocked expression, she rolled her eyes again. "Oh, honestly! Have you caught up on _anything_ since you've been back? Ginny Potter is practically attached to the hip with Lavender Brown, their gossip editor! She probably already knows and is writing the exposé as we speak!"

"That means you have all of next Wednesday before word reaches your father, at best. That's if no one else wised up to anything last night." Blaise finished. Draco wanted to burn the world down at the look of pity that Blaise held in his eyes.

"The whole plan was to introduce her slowly, starting with the gala." Draco said, regaining his composure. "I couldn't care less about the social backlash. I didn't come back for society or money or attention. I came back because I missed magic. The rest of the world will just have to deal with my having Franny in my life, because I'm not giving her up."

"Drake, _her_ life is on the line. Your father-" Blaise tried.

"My father is in Azkaban, under lock and key. I can handle whatever he has to throw at me."

"So you drag her here only to what? Lock her up somewhere safe until fifty years from now when Lucius finally dies?" Pansy cried, disbelieving at her friend's course of action.

"She's not locked up here!" Draco argued. "She's just…safe where I can see her. I'm not the first wizard who's taken a muggle girlfriend, for Merlin's sake. You lot are overreacting."

"No, you just aren't reacting enough! You _know_ how dangerous Lucius is!" Pansy said. "You know that he'll do to her if he gets his hands on her. He'll do anything to hurt you, including torturing and killing her!"

"Then I move out, go somewhere where I won't draw any attention." Franny said quietly. Everyone at the table turned to stare at her. She gave a small shrug. "You're the editor of the _Daily Prophet_ ," she said to Pansy, who was gaping at her like a fish out of water. "You can use whatever connections you have to write off the _Witch Weekly_ article as rubbish—it _is_ a gossip rag, after all—and redirect attention to someone else who can pose as Draco's girlfriend. Hermione, I'm assuming, would be a perfect candidate since you already jumped to that conclusion. It would be the easiest, and it would still piss Lucius off enough to bait him for whatever he has to throw at Draco."

"And we wouldn't really be putting Granger in any danger. She's a skilled witch, after all, not to mention best friends with one of the best Aurors at the Ministry and the Boy Who Lived himself, Harry Potter," Blaise continued, his face brightening at Franny's suggestion. "It's brilliant, but where would you go?"

"I have a flat in muggle London," Pansy offered, clapping her hands together happily. "Blaise lives nearby so he can watch over you, and once the Ministry has dealt with Lucius, you can move back and people will have already warmed to the thought of Draco not dating a pureblood and the transition will be so much easier!"

Franny turned to her boyfriend, noticing that he had gone three shades paler, if that were at all possible. "It's just a suggestion. What do you think, D?" she asked softly.

Draco's mind had stalled at the idea that Franny move out, let alone having to pretend to date Granger, who had settled herself comfortably in a grey area in his heart, a point between not-quite-friend and something-more. He felt a mild twinge of panic at not being around Franny, who to him was his moral compass. Would he be the same person without her in his life? It was silly, he knew, they would spent weeks apart sometimes when they both needed space, but this separation was open-ended, and her presence in his life would depend solely on when his father decided to make a move. He wouldn't even be able to see her for the risk it posed to her safety. Not for the first time, Draco felt himself damned by the circumstances of his birth, and felt himself slip into the hateful place he had worked so hard to crawl out of.

Until Franny took his hand in her small one and gave him a reassuring smile. _It will be okay_ , the smile said, and Draco felt his heart float the tiniest bit at the hope and faith she had in him. So much that she had put herself in this position to begin with, and was even allowing the woman they had fought about not weeks ago to take her place, if only for appearances sake. That the plan was brilliant, Draco couldn't deny. He just never would have thought of it himself, given the sacrifices so many people would have to make on his account. The world selfless came to mind, even though Draco felt anything but, and he grimaced.

Pansy watched the silent exchange between the couple, and felt a little twinge in her heart for the unfortunate circumstances that they were in. As a woman, she couldn't imagine the strength that it had taken for Franny to even suggest that another woman pretend to be Draco's girlfriend, and as Draco's former flame, she understood full well that the wizard was worth jumping through every obstacle for. She eyed her ex carefully, looking for the usual clues as to what he was thinking. Seven years in Slytherin and a pureblood upbringing had given her the keen observation skills that made her such a successful journalist, but the Draco that sat across from her now was such a far cry from the boy she had known that she found herself completely at a loss. The pained look on his face could be about any number of things.

She glanced at Blaise, who was giving Draco the same studious look, and realized that they had all changed. They, for one, were helping them out not because something was in it for them, but out of love and friendship. Because the years after the war had shown them that life could be different, that they were better than what history had seemingly condemned them to. That they deserved better than the hand they were dealt—they need only fight for it.

Finally, she cleared her throat. "Of course, this is all only if Granger agrees to it. Weasley will pose a bit of a problem."

"How so?" Blaise inquired as Draco finally moved, pulling Franny and her seat closer to him.

"Well, it's no secret that Weasley is in love with Granger. Honestly, the man plays professional Quidditch and hasn't been in the gossip rags once in the last three years for so much as a date with another woman since they broke up." Pansy replied.

"He's out for the rest of this season, too." Blaise pointed out. "Medical leave for a torn tendon from the last Cannons game," he added, in answer to the quizzical look Draco shot him.

"If there's one thing I know about Hermione, it's that she'll help." Franny said firmly.

"It will be better if the both of them are seen in public before the article comes out," Pansy pointed out. "That way it will be easier for me to diffuse the rumors."

Franny twisted to face Draco, who had been burrowing his face in his free hand defeatedly. "Drake? What do you say?"

The wizard shook his head, looking resigned. "She's going to hex me on the spot," he muttered.

"So you're okay with this plan?" Blaise prompted.

Draco gripped Franny's hand so tightly that her fingers turned purple the same time his knuckles went even whiter. "If it keeps her safe." He let out a long breath. "But only for three months, at most. If my father doesn't move before then, we come up with a new plan."

Pansy grinned, Blaise let out a relieved sigh and a small smile, and Franny nodded, biting her lip as the gravity of her suggestion finally hit her.

"Three months," they agreed.

As Franny went to pack her things and Pansy went to the entrance hall to make the necessary fire-calls, Blaise and Draco sat quietly, staring out the window of the breakfast nook.

"You fancy her, don't you?"

Draco didn't lift his gaze from the view of the countryside. "I'd have to love her to be willing to go against my father," he stated flatly.

"She's smart, charming and completely irreverent to how this world seems to think of her. Not to mention she's literally walking through hell for you right now, and about to go through even worse. She seems wonderful, Drake, and I appreciate what you see in her. But she's not who I meant."

Draco tensed, biting his tongue painfully to keep from speaking.

"I used to be your best mate, Drake. I know when you're lying." He ran a hand through his dark curls, trying to find the right words to make the other man understand what he was trying to get at. "I…I know when you're lying to yourself. Just…don't let us go through with this if you aren't sure that she's who you want."

"Granger is still Granger," Draco said. "She's still insufferable and stubborn and more broken than everyone I know combined. And it doesn't change the fact that Franny is in it now, regardless of how I think I feel."

"So you do feel something," Blaise pressed.

Draco growled, clenching his fists. "Sometimes you really make me want to hit you, Zabini."

The other man chuckled. "At least that hasn't changed."

Draco sighed, slumping into his chair. "Am I that obvious?"

"No, mate. Maybe just to me. I _have_ known you since we were in nappies, after all." Blaise reassured. "I know when you're fighting against feeling something for someone. I just don't know what you're feeling for Granger."

"I don't either, to be honest," Draco admitted, casting a quick glance around the room to check if they were still alone. "I've been in love with Fran for as long as I can remember feeling anything but hatred. She's all I've known the last four years, she's everything I've ever wanted in a girl."

"Dark hair, drop-dead gorgeous features, killer body, smart as a tack," Blaise enumerated, smirking.

Draco shook his head. "No, no. More than that. She just…she keeps me in check. Everything good about me now is what I've learned from her. She's kind and she's selfless and she doesn't give a flying fuck about what anyone thinks of her." He gave a small laugh, remembering the look on Franny's face when he brought home the dress she wore at the gala. "Not to mention she doesn't give a shite about what she looks like. She could kick my arse in a fair fight, no questions asked. She's a fighter, and she's brave and manipulative and a complete nutter when you get a taste of her sense of humor."

"And Granger?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair, mimicking the action his friend had made not minutes ago. "Salazar, where do I start? Granger makes me laugh, but not because she's funny or anything—she's just absolutely ridiculous. She makes me feel like I'm dangerous and exciting and capable of anything, and then the next second like I'm fragile and need her to protect me. Whenever I'm around her I feel like my skin is on fire, like the world is about to implode and I have to do something before it does. She makes me feel like I need to be worthy of the space I occupy in her universe. I can almost sense when she's in the room without even seeing her, which is ridiculous because I barely know anything about her."

He thought for a second. "No, I know her better than I should. I told you, Blaise, she's broken. She's so broken it almost hurts to look at her because I see myself in her, in the way she carries herself, in the way she's always afraid of the next bad thing that's going to happen. She thinks she's three steps ahead when the reality is that she's so lost it's almost funny. She has the answers, she does, the sodding know-it-all, but she can't see what's right in front of her."

"Which is?"

"Life, Blaise. Life in all its glory. She hasn't taken the time out to actually feel her loss, to grieve, to find herself. And it's a shame because she's brilliant, but even broken she's more beautiful than she was at her best during the war. She reminds me of every bad thing that I've ever done, but at the same time she's all the hope I have in the world. That if she can forgive me and carry on, maybe the rest of the world can forgive me, too. And, here's the absolutely crazy part, my magic wakes up just by being around her. I thought it would happen again once I came back, like maybe I just needed to be around other wizards, but it only happens when she's near me. In Vietnam, in her office, at the gala. Like this weird power surge. It's in my fingertips, like I can almost taste it."

Draco paused and took a deep breath, not realizing that he had admitted everything in such a rush. He cast a worried glance at Blaise, but the man continued to stare blankly out the window. "It's probably just a fluke," he added hastily, hoping it would end the conversation on the muggle-born witch.

"Probably," Blaise agreed after a few moments. "A fluke. So you aren't worried about having to spend time with her?"

"If she agrees," Draco pointed out.

Blaise nodded. "If she agrees."

The question remained hanging in the air between them. "I'm with Fran, Zabini." he said firmly.

The other man nodded again. "Yes, you are." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, seeming to consider his options before throwing caution to the wind. "Although," Draco groaned, slumping forward so that his forehead rested on the table. "As a third-party observer with nothing riding on this except his own personal safety, I do have to point out that you talked about Franny's traits whereas you talked about how Granger made you feel."

"So what?" Draco grunted.

"So nothing. Just saying."

"I love Fran," Draco said quietly, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his stomach. His fingertips traced the raised outlines of the lion tattooed on his left forearm, right next to the Dark Mark, its jaws open as if to swallow it. "I love her," he repeated, almost to himself. _If I didn't love her, why the hell did I bring her into this mess to begin with?_ he asked himself, fear gripping his heart once again.

"I don't doubt it, mate. But it's starting to sound like you might be in love with someone else."

Draco sat back up, nails digging into the Dark Mark, his unfortunate and constant reminder of all the bad decisions he had made. Granger would be the cherry on top of the shite sundae of bad choices, he was sure. Loving Franny was the only thing he had ever gotten right, and he liked to think he was damn good at it. He and Granger would never work, not the way he and Franny did. _Maybe better_ , pointed out the niggling little voice in the back of his head, which was promptly squashed by logic and reason.

"What do you know about love, Zabini?" he challenged, tired of the topic and wanting more than ever to get him and Pansy out of his house.

Blaise glanced at the doorway to the room, where he caught glimpses of Pansy pacing back and forth, oblivious to their conversation as she furiously leafed through her address book. He sighed and turned back to Draco, who he was secretly relieved to see had caught the motion. Draco raised an eyebrow, and Blaise shrugged.

"I know enough to know that you can love someone and not be _in_ love with them. That when you do fall in love, it's usually without reason and with no consideration for anyone else involved. That it isn't a cause for anything, just a result. Two people who are right for each other meet, and they fall in love. It's an effect, however…unfortunate. Maybe you can be in love with more than one person at a time, who knows?"

"Even after the Patil twins?" Draco said slyly.

Blaise laughed. "Always did like Padma better, even though Parvati could do that thing with her tongue…"

"Zabini!" Draco reprimanded, pretending to be shocked.

Blaise grinned at him. "Oh, whatever. My point is, it sounds like you could be in love with Granger."

"I'm not." Draco said adamantly.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Just watch yourself, mate. We've both hurt enough people to last us a lifetime." He gave Draco a long, curious look before adding, "And that includes ourselves."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello! Finally got this moving in the right direction. I have to say that when I planned this story out Pansy and Blaise (along with Ron, Harry and Ginny) weren't in it, but now that they're here I quite enjoy them. Please do leave a review and let me know what you think, and if there's anything you'd like to see in the next chapter. Cheers! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Hello, everyone! Apologies for the delay. Writer's block hit me hard before this chapter finally happened, so I'm dedicating this to my unwavering friend and sounding board Arielle, without whom I would have veered far off track.

Also, thank you to everyone who left such kind reviews! Virtual hugs and kisses to you all!

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

 _In which Hermione bites off more than she can chew_

Hermione dug the heels of her palms into her eyesockets, willing her migraine away. Her head was swimming and her gut was roiling uncomfortably, so much so that she was vaguely worried that her lunch would reappear and ruin her living room carpet. She took a deep breath, then ten more, trying to calm down enough to speak—but even then every breath only served to send a jarring pulse of pain through to her temple.

When she finally did calm down, though not nearly enough, she could barely hear herself over the hammering of her own heart.

"C-could you say that again? Except this time, _do_ try to make sense."

Draco, who was sitting in her favorite armchair, sighed resignedly and ran a hand through his white-blond hair. He still felt out of sorts coming from his intimate conversation with Blaise just a few hours prior, and despite looking his usual perfectly-coiffed and impassive self, the last thing he wanted was to be around the object of his startling and disorienting new affliction…er, affections. Somehow, giving voice to his feelings to Blaise had made them so much more real, and he wasn't sure how to handle them. If he even should, given their current plan of action.

He would have honestly preferred to head to Pansy's flat with them to get Franny settled in, but the others (rather, Pansy and Blaise) had insisted that he ask her to participate immediately and he, surprisingly, had conceded. Time was, after all, of the essence.

He was completely secure in the knowledge that his father had yet to find out about Franny, but it never hurt to err on the side of caution. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get back to his friends and far away from the disconcerting way Granger looked at him.

He subconsciously tensed the muscles in his shoulders before relaxing them, watching distractedly at the way she worried her pink bottom lip before shaking his head slightly. Correction: the sooner they were able to force Lucius' hand, the sooner he could get out from the cloud he'd been living under since he'd moved back to Britain. Let it be known that above all else, he, Draco Malfoy, was a pragmatist. A self-serving arse, yes, but a practical one.

"I, no, _we_ ," he corrected himself, getting a hold of his bearings. "-need you to pose as my girlfriend for the next three months," he reiterated, taking a split second to enjoy the sheer outlandishness of his own statement. He could now officially cross "indecently proposition a woman" off his bucket list.

Against her better judgment, Hermione laughed; a sound that was so shrill and jarring in the awkward silence between them that Draco winced. She realized she didn't care, and it served him right to be in as much pain as she was for having the gall to walk into her apartment with such a ludicrous proposition. As if the madness at the gala the previous night hadn't been enough!

"Next you'll tell me that Franny and Ron need to have a fake engagement. Should I pencil their wedding date into my planner?" she snapped.

Rather than the smirk she fully expected to find, his face was a study in disinterest. "We were just having a little fun," he deadpanned, as though their conduct were perfectly excusable.

She stared at him incredulously. "So you were in on that ridiculous charade? And here I thought you'd actually changed. You're still as petty and manipulative as you were in school. It's a ploy right out of the Slytherin playbook," she rambled, and her breath caught in her throat the second she met his eyes.

He was regarding her with a blank look that anyone who actually knew him would recognize as one more dangerous than his glare. It was rare, and only ever happened when he had been caught so off guard and gotten so royally pissed off that his brain actually blanked out and spent the next split-seconds calculating the next move.

Not, of course, that Hermione paid any more attention to him in school than had been required, and thus wasn't privy to just how hard the man across from her was working to temper his emotions. She didn't know that his patience was already worn thin by her lousy attempt to redirect the conversation, and now she was shoving him into a pigeonhole simply to reaffirm her own prejudice. No, she wasn't aware of any of this, and yet she had known that her careless remark had sent the man across from her into a dark mood.

 _Bloody hypocrites, the lot of you_ , Draco lamented mentally. So sodding good to the rest of the world, yet so dysfunctional in real life. He frowned. She and Weasley were a better match than he had initially thought.

To him, it was ridiculous that reducing someone to their weakest point in life was more comfortable than the idea that a couple could be so secure in their relationship that they didn't mind when the other flirted. Draco was sure that a part of Fran had been attracted to the Weasel, had even told him that she was going to go have some fun—just as sure as he was that Franny had an inkling about his attraction to Granger. They had just let each other be, knowing who it was they'd be coming home to.

But of course the woman knew just what to say to push his buttons. That he was enamored with her didn't matter a whit when he found himself this angry—and not even at the insult; he was upset on principle alone that he was getting reprimanded with flawed logic. He hadn't gone through his own personal version of hell to have anyone debase him and force him back into the box he had fought tooth and nail out of. Draco was a Slytherin, yes, in _school_. How could anyone move forward when the figureheads of the new regime themselves couldn't even let go of their adolescent biases? He had worked too hard to be reduced to the boy he had been, especially to the only person who had actually seen and experienced the changes firsthand. The thought grated at him, his fists clenching and unclenching subconsciously as he considered his next move.

Finally, he willed himself out of the tunnel of rage he found himself in for the second time that day. When he spoke, his voice didn't falter.

"What would you have me say?" he began carefully, tone tight. "That we apologize for having a little bit of fun at someone's expense? That schoolyard bullying was so satisfying that we had to find ways to perpetuate that kind of negativity into our adult lives? Would that excuse please you, Granger?"

When she didn't respond, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his tented fingers in one graceful, almost feline movement, simultaneously shifting his perch to the edge of the chair to close the distance between them. Outwardly, he seemed placid, but inside he was still vibrating with anger.

On anyone else, the position would have seemed merely pensive; on Draco Malfoy, it was positively threatening for the speed with which the invasion into her personal space was made. For the first time in weeks, Hermione remembered that he had been a Death Eater in Voldemort's inner circle despite his youth, and was therefore still dangerous. She unconsciously retreated, regretting her words, now all too aware of the mere inches that now separated their bodies. She moved over a seat and leaned back into the couch cushions. The movement caused the hint of a smirk to pull at Draco's lips. The distance was necessary; she could almost feel the reigned-in rage coming off him like body heat.

His next words were saccharine—meant to bait and yet still goosebumps rose on her arms at the coldness they were delivered with.

"Need I remind you, dear, sweet Granger, that change is inevitable—even when it makes you uncomfortable. Even when you refuse to acknowledge it. If I were anything like they boy I'd been at Hogwarts, I would have Imperioused you the second you opened the door and erased your memories afterwards. How much I would erase, I can't say. I could have left you unable to remember how to tie your shoes, let alone how to swallow your own spit. I would not have hesitated, nor would I have regretted taking your free will from you. Would you have preferred that?" He raised an eyebrow at her, making her gulp.

"While I am repentant of my actions in the war," he continued, "it does not change what they made me. If you prefer to hold me to my past for your own comfort, I will do nothing to dissuade you. I will not save you from that fate and the lack of personal growth that comes with it—though it is a pity that someone as bright as you could be so narrow-minded. Unlike your precious Potty and Weasel, I was never a hero, nor do I have it in me to be one. Beyond the charity I extend to those who not just require but deserve it, I am not so holier-than-thou that I can claim absolution or goodness. Unlike you, I acknowledge the necessity of evil—embrace it, even. I know what I am, and I am not a wholly good person." He tilted his head at her, studying her as though she was a particularly disfigured science experiment. "Did you expect anything otherwise?"

Hermione didn't know what to say. There he sat, orphanage-volunteering, Ministry-reforming, muggle-loving Malfoy, and yet he was giving her a lecture on the very thing she had devoted her adult life to: acceptance. For the first time in her life, Hermione didn't have any words to argue with, because she knew that he was right. Her words had been harsh and unfair, and if there was one thing you learned as a wizard, it was the power of words.

And then there it was: _expectation_. _Had_ she expected him to be anything more than what she knew him as? He had shown her that he was a far cry from the broken, tortured boy he'd been. As much as she was loathe to admit it, the man had a point—one that she had always acknowledged and yet refused to voice for fear of reprisal from her friends.

They were warriors of the Light—to acknowledge the necessity of evil, of cruelty, of _balance_ , would have been their antithesis. What leg did they have to stand on, what excuse for murders and violence, if they were to even think such a thing?

Much like him, Hermione was very much a pragmatist—she had never had the luxury of basing her decisions on something as flimsy as hope, and yet everything he now was had nevertheless sparked it to life. Hope that there was more to the world than what she'd had to hinge her entire belief system on, hope that who you were was a personal decision rather than one that was imposed—one that came with acceptance. Hope that it was alright to be as complex and complicated as she was, instead of being the token muggle-born friend, the problem solver, the one with all the answers, the bookworm extraordinaire.

The key to her own salvation rested with Draco Malfoy somehow, as loathe as she was to admit it.

"I'm sorry," she finally murmured, mustering up the courage to meet his eyes straight on. "For my statement," she clarified at his raised eyebrow. "But I still don't trust you, Malfoy. I still don't know if this is all an act, or if the last four years have actually changed you for the better. Did you really expect me, or anyone for that matter, to just take you on your word?"

The corner of his lips twitched, holding back a sneer. "You do remember that I was acquitted of all charges as a Death Eater?"

"Your mother was placed under Veristaserum, not you," she pointed out.

He leaned back into his seat, seeming to consider the matter before inclining his head towards her. To anyone else, it would have come off as a simple twitch, but Hermione was perceptive enough to know that he was nodding his consent.

"So test me," he stated flatly.

She sputtered, shocked at the sudden turn in his mood. From seething with suppressed rage, he was suddenly…resigned? "What?" she demanded, her jaw dropping.

"Test me, Granger," he repeated, his tone now challenging and slightly amused. "I'm sure Potter has access to Veritaserum as an Auror."

She shook her head, now seriously considering his severe proposition. "No, every batch of Veritaserum is carefully kept under log. It would take weeks to get clearance, and I highly doubt we would get it for, er, personal matters." She cast her gaze to her bookshelf. "We could brew some, but it's a tricky potion and would take a month. Besides," She swung her gaze back to him. "There's no guarantee that you're a skilled enough Occulumens to withstand its effects."

"I don't have weeks." Draco muttered darkly, running a hand raggedly through his hair as he considered their options. "Do you know Legilimency?"

At that, her jaw dropped. How could he so willingly consent to having someone in his head? Was he that confident that he had nothing to hide from her? She flushed, realizing how intimate the offer was while he seemed to understand the implications and not mind at all! It would change their dynamic forever. "N-no," she finally admitted.

He sighed. "Get up, then." At her questioning look, he finally let out the sneer he'd been holding back. "A pensieve, Granger. I have one in the Brighton estate. I can Side-Along Apparate us there. And don't look at me like that. You're the one who asked for this." He rose from his chair and held his elbow out for her to take. "Come on." He tapped his foot impatiently. "We don't have all day."

Hermione stared at him, wondering if it were all truly necessary. She had been the one to question him, yes, but now that he was so willingly offering her the truth, her curiosity won out against her better judgment and stood, taking his arm. There was a way that Draco Malfoy had managed to save himself, and she was damned if she wasn't going to figure it out for herself.

There was a whirl of color and an uncomfortable pull around her navel, and they apparated away.

* * *

"So," Blaise said, unshrinking the last of Franny's boxes and settling on the couch of Pansy's penthouse apartment. The place was barely furnished, but the floor-to-ceiling windows let in a lot of light, revealing it to at least be dust-free. It was by no means homey, but it would do.

Pansy had bid them goodbye after showing them around, begging off on the excuse that an emergency at work had come up and she had to go into the office to deal with it, leaving Blaise to help the muggle girl get settled. At the moment, Franny was kneeling on the floor in front of him, pulling out muggle contraptions that he recognized as cameras and machines for developing photos.

"Are you hungry? Would you like me to go out and get you anything?"

Franny shook her head, frowning at the boxes that surrounded her. She hadn't liked having to be uprooted just when she was finally starting to feel at home, but she was adaptable enough not to complain. _At least this place doesn't echo_ , she thought with a grimace, and consoled herself with the fact that there was a gym housed within the complex to help her stay on her exercise regime. "I'm fine, thanks. Are you hungry? The fridge is stocked. I'm sure I could make you something, but don't count on it being more than a sandwich."

Blaise chuckled. "Tempting, but I'm not hungry. Are you sure I can't be of any more assistance?"

She waved a dismissive hand at him before sighing resignedly and shutting the now-empty box. She had gotten permission from Pansy to turn the bath in the guestroom into a darkroom, but she was quite sure that the witch hadn't realized the stink of developer that she was agreeing to. She shrugged off the thought and figured she'd just air out the room when she could and rose, knees cracking, to settle across from him on an armchair, their orientation startling similar to the one Draco and Hermione had found themselves in across the city. She tucked her knees under her and rested a hand on her chin, looking at the dark-skinned man expectantly.

He raised an eyebrow at her expression, a smirk curling at his lips.

"Well? Get on with it."

"With what, dear?"

"Your interrogation," she grinned. Blaise looked startled for a split second before resuming his knowing smirk. "You're D's best friend," she said by way of explanation. "So get on with the part where you make me jump through hoops and make me prove myself worthy of him."

Blaise cleared his throat, unable to hide the excitement in his eyes. He was surprised by her forwardness, but he wasn't one to overlook an opportunity. Her willingness to be put through questioning made it easier for him to cut through the bullshit and get to the heart of the matter.

Back in school, it was no secret that Blaise had never liked any of the girls Draco had dated—save for, he supposed, Pansy herself. Having known him since before he could talk and being born a few months prior, he felt a protectiveness and responsibility for his friend that he'd had to hide behind cool Syltherin indifference. After years and finally free of the unspoken laws that governed his school House, he was more than ready to reclaim his title as official Best Friend. He was more than prepared to discover that he disliked her so that he could advise Draco to cut his losses.

While Blaise had never prescribed to the pureblood propaganda, a wizard of Draco's standing fraternizing with muggle was a stretch and was by no means feasible nor sustainable, especially now that he was back in society. _Their_ society. Either the man was still being a sucker for punishment, or he was letting his other head make his decisions for him. Blaise just wanted to protect Draco from the judgment and snide comments that would inevitably be thrown his way. There was also a very good chance that his association with her would affect the family businesses, as a lot of the movers and shakers in the wizarding world remained to be members of the pureblood elite. A large portion of their kind's wealth rested with them, after all.

Not that the businesses needed any more help. Draco's inheritance from his grandparents alone were enough to ensure comfort for the next three generations of Malfoys—and that was before Narcissa's own Black inheritance was transferred to him at her death.

With Narcissa gone, Merlin rest her soul, it was up to him and Pansy to look out for Draco's well-being.

He waved his wand, casting a non-verbal spell for tea to begin preparing itself in the kitchen. They sat in silence as the water quickly boiled and the accoutrements settled themselves onto a tray before flying out to rest on the coffee table between them. Blaise helped himself to a cuppa.

"All civilized conversation requires tea," he answered to her questioning look.

The girl shook her head and stood up to retrieve something from the master bedroom. She returned a few seconds later with a bottle of whiskey tucked under her arm. Without asking, she tipped a bit into Blaise's tea before tending to her own. "All civilized conversation requires alcohol," she corrected.

He shrugged, hiding his amusement, and took a sip, savoring the taste of the whiskey before setting his cup back down and regarding her with a now-cold stare, all pretenses gone. "What are your intentions with Draco?" No use beating around the bush, he figured.

Franny snorted into her cup before meeting his stare head on. "Well, to shag him senseless, as you Brits would say," she replied, donning a surprisingly accurate accent.

Blaise's expression didn't change. "And once your insatiable appetites have been spent?"

She sighed, and settled her cup next to Blaise's on the table. "The same as you, I guess. Be there for him. Help him have more good days than bad ones. Make him laugh when I can, help shoulder the baggage that he insists on carrying." She rested her chin on her palm, regarding him with a pointed look that caught Blaise off guard. "I'm sure you think that I jumped right into bed with him, but that's not how it happened. We were friends before anything else. I know it sounds cliché and that I sound like I'm full of shit, but I never even looked at him romantically until the first time he kissed me. When I met him, all I saw was someone who needed a friend—someone to talk to. I never crossed that line, never wanted to be anything more. All I ever wanted was to be there for him. I'm not just in love with him, Blaise. How I feel about Draco goes beyond being his girlfriend or his lover. I love him, in every sense of the word that I know."

Blaise schooled his expression into a blank one, thanking his Slytherin upbringing silently for the skill. While he was sure she was telling the truth, it was his job to prod. He didn't have it in him to let someone off the hook so easily. "And what made you change your mind? Did you know about his inheritance?"

At that, Franny laughed. "Our first apartment together was as big as this living room, and that includes the bath. We split rent between us, and I worked three jobs to meet the bills every month. You tell me."

"You expect me to believe that Draco lived in a shoebox for four years?" he challenged.

She shrugged. "We lived there for a year and a half before I got a better job at an art gallery, so we managed to get a bigger place before finally moving to Nam," she explained. "He never complained, so I never knew that he was used to anything, er, more," she finished lamely. When Blaise didn't speak, she thought back to his question.

"As for what made me change my mind. Man, I don't know. He was one of my best friends at that point, but I was scared shitless about getting into a relationship. His issues didn't scare me—heaven knows everyone's damaged in some way. It's just…I know that Draco's not the type to take these things so casually, so I knew that whatever I started with him would be for keeps. There was never any big discussion about what we expected from each other, but I knew that I couldn't go into it without knowing that he was the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I couldn't let him down like that. His life's been full of disappointment one way or the other, and him allowing you in comes with your unspoken guarantee that you will not, would never, betray his trust."

A tense silence stretched between them, both mulling over the double meaning to her words. After a few minutes, Franny finally looked up from staring at her lap to meet his intense stare.

"And is he?" Blaise asked quietly.

"Without a doubt," she answered with no hesitation.

The wizard let out a long breath, attempting to relax and yet never lifting his gaze from her. It was reassuring that the girl had proved to have deep insight into the inner workings of his friend's mind, but despite her declarations of love and devotion, he still found it difficult to believe that anyone would willingly pick up and leave everything they had ever known not just once but _twice_. Self-preservation may have been a distinctly Slytherin trait, but it was one present in every person.

"Why hinge your entire future on one man—a future that right now is completely up in the air?" he asked, voicing his curiosity. He knew he was being tactless, but he couldn't figure another way to ask at the moment.

Unconsciously, Franny's hand went over her stomach, where her fingers toyed idly with the bottom of her shirt. To Blaise's relief, she didn't seem insulted—merely like she was deciding how much to tell him. "I get these dreams," she explained quietly. "They're different every time, but they're always bad. Most of the time I don't remember them, but the ones that I do all have Draco dying right in front of me, and I can never help him. I don't know why, but they let me see bad things happening to him and protect him the best I can. And I feel like I can continue that. I don't know the future, Blaise, but I know that in every possible universe, he's part of mine. If I were to leave, I would lose that. I would lose my best friend and the best part of me. I know it's selfish and assuming, but if I were to leave, he would lose his best friend, too."

"He has me and Pansy," Blaise offered, for the first time dropping his emotionless mask and regarding her sincerely.

At that, Franny smiled. "Yes, I suppose he always has, hasn't he."

The statement made Blaise flush despite himself. He wasn't used to showing his emotions to anyone apart from Draco, Pansy and his family. He cleared his throat and reached for his cup of tea, downing it in one go.

Franny merely watched him, passing him the bottle of alcohol silently once he was done. He poured himself another drink, this time sans the tea. They sat in silence for a bit, each mulling over what had been said.

"What's the worst thing about him?" Blaise said eventually. This time his tone was playful.

The girl laughed. "Oh, he spends way too much time on his hair."

Blaise snorted quite gracelessly into his drink. "Still? Salazar, that man used to have a mirror that paid him nothing but compliments whenever he stood in front of it."

Franny took the bottle from Blaise and helped herself. "I'm not surprised. There was this one time…"

* * *

Hermione and Draco appeared in a long hallway, right in front of circular, carved door. Hermione shuddered involuntarily, still unused to the distinct taste of iron and nausea that Side-Along Apparition always left her with.

"Welcome to Brighton estate," Draco greeted mirthlessly as he released her and walked forward. He pushed the side of the circular door and instead of swinging open down the middle as she had expected, it merely swung round like a revolving door.

Before Hermione could say anything, he stepped through into the dark, cavernous room, leaving her to trail after him apprehensively. He clicked a few switches on a panel to the side of the doorframe and the room was suddenly bathed in light. _Electricity_ , Hermione mused. _Wasn't expecting that_.

He merely rolled his eyes at her smug expression and flicked a hand towards the curtains, commanding them open. He then strode forward through the room towards the desk that was nestled in its far corner. She followed, watching with surprise as he picked up a nasty looking letter opener and pricked the tip of his index finger. He ignored her gasp of alarm and let a drop of his blood fall into the open mouth of a serpent that had been carved into the façade of the desk. At the offering, the snake became animated, swinging its jaws closed as slithered from the right hand side of the desk towards the middle, positioning its body into a circle before opening its jaws again to eat its own tail.

Hermione recognized the ouroboros, and watched as the wooden surface in the middle of the circle shimmered before revealing the pensieve Draco had told her about.

From what she recalled from Professor Binn's classes, pensieves themselves were exceptionally rare, but she supposed a wizarding family as old as the Malfoy's had one in their extensive collection of artifacts. Even the Ministry itself didn't have one in possession, and given the way that it was hidden—that is, requiring a blood offering, which wasn't always considered Dark Magic, from a member of the family—she wasn't surprised that they had been able to keep it from getting confiscated in the raid on the Manor.

She pulled herself from her thoughts to find Draco with his hand out to her expectantly. At her surprised expression, Draco rolled his eyes again.

"Your wand, Granger. How else are we to get the memories into the pensieve?" he bit out. She hesitated, and he grunted. "If I wanted to hurt you I would have left you to get fried at the perimeter wards. I'm not going to repeat myself."

"No funny business, Malfoy," she warned, passing him her wand.

He ignored her threat and pressed the tip to his temple, pulling out silver, wisp-like strands before depositing them into the pensieve, which then swirled with a riot of color. Without a word, he passed her the wand back, which she tucked safely back into the front pocket of her muggle jeans. He took a step back and sat in the leather wing-backed chair behind the desk.

"Well, Granger?" He motioned to the desk. "Have fun."

She cast him another wary look before moving closer to the desk, considering her options. They had gone this far—it wouldn't do to back down now. She took a deep breath, recalling Harry's stories of using Dumbledore's pensieve, and dove in headfirst into his memories.

* * *

 _Hermione floated blissfully for half a second before gliding down through a sunny, cloud-free sky, feet first, to find herself in the main courtyard of Hogwarts. She smiled, basking in the warm Scottish sky before casting a quick look around to find a younger looking Draco sitting cross-legged under a tree, a book tucked beneath a roll of parchment that he was writing diligently on. It had been easy to spot him thanks to his shock of platinum blond hair, and she had barely walked over to stand next to him before a trio of fifth year Slytherin boys sauntered over to stand imperiously before him._

 _"_ _Oy, Malfoy," a greasy-haired boy called to him._

 _The memory Draco barely glanced up at him. "Evander," he greeted flatly._

 _One of Evander's goons sniggered behind a meaty fist, elbowing their little leader, while another cracked his knuckles. She frowned, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a disapproving stance. She had been out of school a while, but it was clear that they had come over to harass the older boy. She looked at Draco expectantly, wondering why he didn't immediately reach for his wand or walk away, but he simply dipped his quill back into the inkpot on the grass next to him and continued his essay._

 _Evander looked annoyed by the other boy's lack of interest in him, and nudged Draco's leg with a booted toe, causing him to smudge the sentence he was working on. Still, the wizard didn't pay him any mind and simply reached for his wand to erase the blot._

 _"_ _You think you're going to get off easy? You were warned not to spend any time in the common room, and yet Parkes over here saw you reading there last night."_

 _Draco hands didn't even pause in their task. He didn't say anything to defend himself. Evander then grabbed the ink pot and poured its contents over the parchment, ruining the foot and a half that had already been written beyond the help of magic. He then waved his wand, causing the leaves hanging overhead to fall on top of the older boy. The younger Slytherins guffawed at the sight._

 _"_ _That should teach you," Evander hissed menacingly. "That's where you belong, Malfoy. In the dirt and mud, along with the other blood traitors."_

 _The trio spun on their heels and walked off. Draco sat half buried under the leaves for another minute before crumpling his parchment with shaking hands. He brushed himself off, packed up his things and stood, ignoring the stares and laughter from the other students loitering about._

 _Hermione stared as she watched him walk away, but before she could decide how to feel about the knowledge that Malfoy had gotten bullied at school by his own Housemates, the courtyard around her melted away and she found herself-_

 _…_

 _-at the Malfoy family cemetery, standing behind Draco, who was now dressed in what she recognized as Hogwarts graduation robes. He was kneeling in front of a gravestone, a bouquet of stargazer lilies in his hands._

 _Narcissa Malfoy, the marker read. Beloved wife, loving mother._

 _The wizard placed the flowers next to the stone and took out his wand, waving it to change the engraving on the headstone._

 _Narcissa Black, it now read. Fearless warrior, never forgotten._

 _He remained kneeling there until the sun set, unmoving, before finally leaning his forehead on the cold stone, his shoulders shaking with sobs. By the way he was crying, it was clear that it was the first time he had cried in a while, and was trying valiantly to restrain himself from the perceived weakness. "Je serai toujours votre fils, maman," he whispered, the tips of his long fingers caressing the cold stone as his other hand balled grass and soil into a fist._

 _Hermione wasn't fluent in French, but she recognized his words to mean "I will always be your son, mama." He leaned back on his haunches, gripping the length of his wand in mud-stained fists, snapping it in half with a crack that echoed around the empty cemetery. He then took those pieces and snapped them into more halves until his hands were bleeding with splinters. His movements were methodological, almost calm. If it weren't for the tears streaming down his pale face the entire time, he looked like he was simply going through his mail._

 _Her breath hitched in her chest at the emotional display before her, watching as the broken boy in front of her used wandless magic to dig a hole in the roots of an elder tree next to the grave site. He rose and dumped the pieces of his wand into the hole, using his bare hands to refill it and pat it down._

 _He returned to the grave, standing in the fading light of the sun. She couldn't see his expression from where she was standing, but she had been too caught up in the scene to consider moving. "Merci pour ce cadeau, maman. Mon sort est maintenant ma propre. Je ne vais pas vous manquer."_

 _"_ _Thank you for this gift, mother. My fate is now my own. I will not fail you," Hermione whispered to herself, translating quickly. The sun had almost completely set before the scene shifted yet again, and suddenly she was-_

 _…_

 _-standing in the soft glow of sunrise next to Draco on a stone balcony overlooking a placid, blue-green ocean. Hermione recognized the view as the same one from postcards her parents had sent her from their vacation in Punta del Este, Uruguay, before noting that the man beside her was dressed in inconspicuous muggle clothes. A closer look at his expression, however, revealed that he wasn't as moved by the beautiful sight before her as she was. Draco scowled, leaning on his elbows as he stared into the seascape. For a few minutes, Hermione merely watched the 18-year-old version of him stand lost in his own thoughts before she decided to explore the room. It was a regular hotel room, as opposed to a suite as she had expected. The bed was still fully made and looked immaculate, his trunk resting shut and fully packed against the foot of the bed, but a marked calendar on the bedside showed that he had been there for the better part of a month. She gasped with surprise as Draco followed her in, passing straight through her, to sit on the bed. He pulled a folio out from the dresser drawer._

 _She watched as he rummaged through a passport and spread old boarding passes and ship tickets on the mattress. Paris, France; Omsk, Russia; Milan, Italy; Capetown, Africa; Antofagasta, Chile; Buenos Aires, Argentina, she noted, all within weeks of each other. If her timings were correct, she was in a memory five months after he had graduated from Hogwarts._

 _The Draco in the memory had picked up the phone and was speaking to who she assumed was a travel agent._

 _"_ _Somewhere busy, with a lot of people," he said into the receiver. "No, maybe not there. Yes, New York sounds fine. For this evening, yes. I don't mind. Mm-hmm. Business class will do. Thank you." He returned the handle to its cradle and looked hopelessly around the room._

 _With a start, Hermione realized that he was showing her what he had been up to before he had moved to the States. Before she could wonder any further, Draco had begun to speak to himself._

 _"_ _You're going nutters on your own, mate," he muttered darkly. "What's the point of freedom if you're going to spend every second reliving everything you're trying to get away from." He swept all of his passes up and returned them to the folio before pressing them to his stomach like a queer sort of comfort and lying down to stare at the ceiling. "No more running, you sodding lunatic. You're going to settle down in this next place whether you like it or not."_

 _The hotel room melted away, leaving her-_

 _…_

 _-in a small, dingy alley on a blustery winter night. Her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dim light, especially coming from the sun-bathed room she had been in seconds prior, but they widened at the familiar sound of leather hitting flesh and bones cracking. She spun around to find George Weasley standing over Draco, who was slumped against the wall, clutching his side._

 _"_ _That was for Hogwarts, you pathetic excuse for a man," George spat before walking back to a noise-filled side door, where Katie Bell was waiting. The door swung shut, leaving them in an eerie quiet._

 _Hermione moved to Draco, who spat out a mouthful of blood and wiped the back of his hand against his split lip. He didn't react when Hermione pressed a hand to his bruised cheek only to have it glide right through him as though she were a ghost. The sound of rushed footsteps crunching through the gravel and snowy muck alerted them to the presence of someone else in the alley, and they both looked up to see a teenage Franny kneeling over him, her pixie-cut black hair a tousled riot against her pale, pensive face._

 _She watched as Draco's grey eyes struggled to focus on her, realizing that on top of having been beaten down, he was also piss drunk. His warm, panting breaths escaped as mist in the cold, dark alley._

 _She reached a hand out and brushed a lock of stray hair away from Draco's forehead, causing him to tense up and then subsequently groan at the pain his fractured ribs were surely causing him. Franny bit her lip._

 _"_ _Well, pick yourself up. No point wallowing in self-pity. Get up," she demanded, her tone far more authoritative than she looked. "Let's get you to a hospital and home." She straightened up, pulling her jacket down, and looked to the end of the alley, presumably to check if the redhead was going to return. From her defensive stance and the way she was positioned, it was clear that she was shielding Draco from anyone else entering the small space. "Hitting someone while they're down," she mumbled. "Fucking coward."_

 _Draco gave her a wary look, giving her small frame a once over before his features finally melted into one of resignation. "What else do I have to lose," he muttered to himself. Franny didn't hear him, but Hermione did. He made to stand, hissing with pain, and Franny whirled around to help him up. He got up from the floor with a groan and a string of colorful expletives, making the muggle girl's bright green eyes widen with surprise then amusement, before allowing him to lean on her as she supported him out towards the street._

 _Hermione followed, but halfway down the alley Draco paused. She moved so that she was in front of them. From there, she had a clear view of how close their faces were to each other, with one of Draco's arm around the small girl's shoulders and one of hers encircling his waist._

 _"_ _Why are you helping me?" he asked. From the look on his face he seemed genuinely confused by her intentions._

 _Franny leaned back, placing more distance between their faces, and readjusted her hold on him. Setting her eyes back onto the street in front of them, she answered, "Because no one deserves to be friendless on Christmas Eve."_

 _The pair resumed their walk, stepping right through Hermione, who turned around and found her surroundings shifting to-_

 _…_

 _-a bright, noisy room packed with people. Some of the women had tinsel in their hair, and most of the men were wearing party hats that read "Happy New Year!" The music was loud and rowdy, and most of the party-goers looked either drunk or high on something else entirely. They were all well-dressed and good-looking, and Hermione had to search for a bit before finally finding Draco leaning against a wall at the far end of the room, as removed from the festivities as he could get. His hair was now dyed a dark brown, and he was holding a flute of champagne. The wall clock above him read that it was about a half hour until midnight._

 _"_ _We've got to stop meeting like this," she heard him say. Hermione turned back to find that Franny was now leaning on the wall next to him, smiling amusedly as she pinned a silver serving tray to her side._

 _"_ _Well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas Eve," she quipped. "You look good with dark hair," she complimented. Draco raised an eyebrow at her, then took in her black skirt and white collared shirt. She ignored his assessing stare, pressing her shoulders into the wall to face the room instead of him. "Having fun?"_

 _"_ _Oh, loads," he answered sarcastically, polishing off his drink._

 _"_ _You know," she said conversationally. "That blonde in the skin-tight red number has been giving you googly eyes for the last two hours. Why don't you go over there and talk to her?"_

 _Hermione looked around to find that indeed, a gorgeous woman with cascading blond curls was making bedroom eyes at him, occasionally giving Franny a dark look. She grimaced, then turned back to their conversation._

 _He deposited his flute on a passing server's tray and grabbed two fresh ones. He handed one to her as she nodded at her co-worker. "You make it a habit to stick your nose in everyone's business?" he asked, although there was no malice in his tone, simply curiosity._

 _"_ _Not really," she answered honestly. "People are more trouble than they're worth." She took a sip of champagne and sighed contentedly. She tilted her face to him, eyeing him. "You really should be out there having fun," she stated._

 _Draco gave a dry chuckle. "I don't know anyone here. It's kind of difficult to have fun in a room full of strangers."_

 _Franny pushed herself off the wall. "But that's exactly the kind of fun you should be having," she insisted, grinning. "Go on. Live a little." She raised her glass to him, looking at him expectantly._

 _He regarded her for a few seconds before returning the smile. "Right. Life. That has the unfortunate side effect of having to be lived," he said wryly. He clinked his glass against hers, and they downed the rest of their drinks in unison._

 _"_ _See you around," he called after her as she took his empty flue and turned to leave._

 _She glanced at him over her shoulder, flashing him another warm smile. "Go," she mouthed. "Have fun!"_

 _Hermione watched as Draco shook his head with amusement, then turned back to the room. He took another few moments to compose himself before pushing himself off the wall as well and vanishing into the crowd to mingle._

 _Just as Hermione lost sight of him, the room slowly began shifting to-_

 _…_

 _-a small apartment. Hermione found herself standing in a barely furnished living room, most of them still bearing their protective plastic covers. It was night time and snowing outside. Draco was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, a box of brand new dishes next to him along with a half-empty bottle of expensive scotch._

 _The apartment was deathly quiet, nothing but the steady ticking of the clock echoing around them._

 _Draco took a deep swig before reaching for another plate and hurling it at the wall with a resounding crash, making her jump wtih alarm. Hermione recognized the look on his face; sheer and utter hopelessness. He reached back into the box, a mug this time, before leaning forward and repeating the motion with a grunt. Pieces flew in every direction, flying straight through her. Looking dissatisfied, he got up, cradling the box to his side and proceeded to hurl the remaining china in rapid succession at the wall._

 _By the time the last piece of porcelain hit the ground, he was panting from the effort and looked completely spent. The box fell to the ground, and beside it Draco crumpled, cradling his head in his hands as he sobbed._

 _The memory didn't last long, and before she could get her bearings she was-_

 _…_

 _-in a doctor's empty waiting room. Draco was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his arms crossed against his chest and frowning at the fern across him. A quick glance around at the plaques on the walls told her that they were at a psychologist's office. His psychologist, presumably._

 _Exhausted from everything that she'd witnessed so far, Hermione collapsed into the chair next to him, watching as he toyed with a bandage around his left hand. She only got about a half-minute's reprieve, however, as soon the non-descript brown door next to them opened to reveal Franny and a friendly-looking middle-aged man._

 _"_ _Thank you again for agreeing to continue seeing him, Dr. Althaus," she said. She gave Draco a warning look, and he merely scowled at her._

 _Dr. Althaus gave Draco a warm, albeit apprehensive smile. "I'm glad to hear that you're still open to resuming therapy with us, Daniel."_

 _"_ _Not willingly," Draco muttered, and Franny gave him a sharp kick to the shin. "Merde, woman!" he hissed at her. She shot him a warning look and inclined her head towards the doctor. Draco sighed, the expression on his face similar to that of a man resigned to his fate, and stood up, his hands shoved into his pockets. "I'll be here tomorrow," he murmured. "The usual time?"_

 _"_ _Nine o'clock sharp," Dr. Althaus said with a smile, reaching forward to shake his hand._

 _Draco stared at it for a second, seeming to consider his options, before taking it with his good hand and giving him a curt nod. "See you."_

 _"_ _Thank you again, doc." Franny said, waving over her shoulder as she grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him outside._

 _Hermione jumped into the lift with them just as the doors closed._

 _"_ _No more meds," Draco warned her quietly as they stood in opposite corners of the elevator, subconsciously as far as they could get from each other as possible._

 _Franny nodded. "No more yelling at him. He was only trying to help you," she countered._

 _"_ _Yes, well I never asked for it. Or for you to keep sticking your nose in my bloody business." Draco snapped._

 _Franny finally turned to face him, hands on her hips. "I don't know how things work over in England, buddy." She poked him in the chest. "But over here being friends means having people in your life even when you don't want them around!"_

 _"_ _Then you can bloody well take your friendship and shove it up your arse!" Draco pushed past her into the lobby. "I never asked for this life, you know. I never wanted any of it," he seethed, pulling on his jacket and stepping out into the spring afternoon._

 _"_ _You really are nuts if you believe your life to be half as terrible as you think," Franny said quietly, trailing behind him as she struggled to put her jacket on against the brisk spring air. Draco didn't speak to her for the rest of their walk towards a subway station, Hermione struggling to keep pace as the two expertly moved through the busy crowd._

 _"_ _Why are you still here," Draco asked as they stood on the platform waiting for a train to arrive._

 _"_ _Because you can't just walk away when things get too inconvenient for you," Franny answered flatly, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. She sniffed. "I don't care how uncomfortable I make you. I'm not giving up, and neither should you. You've made so much progress. You can't walk away just because you had one bad day." He raised an eyebrow at her, and she sniffed again, looking away. "Fine, a seemingly endless series of exceptionally bad days. A bad week, a bad month, a bad fucking life. Happy?" She sneezed._

 _Draco reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She accepted, blowing her nose into it. He grimaced. "You aren't an inconvenience, you know," he finally stated, staring blankly at the tracks. People jostled around them. "Thanks for being a pain in my arse," he added, so quietly that Hermione could barely hear him._

 _Franny, on the other hand, seemed to have no problems catching it. She gave a dry laugh. "Consider me your personal tumor."_

 _"_ _That's disgusting,"_

 _"_ _So is your outlook on life." She raised her chin at him defiantly. Hermione quietly applauded the girl's spirit, seeing her own friendships mirrored in her refusal to let someone drown in the aftermath of a war she didn't even understand._

 _Draco turned away from her, frowning again. "Could you not be so bloody chipper all the damn time?"_

 _"_ _Can't help it," she grinned. "It would throw our team dynamic completely off balance." She side-stepped closer to him, looping her arm around his. "That's what we are, you know. We're a team. I've got your back," she said quietly, pressing her cheek against the fabric of his jacket._

 _Draco looked down at her, placing an absent-minded kiss on the top of her head. "A team," he murmured against her hair._

 _The sound of an approaching train roared around them, and Hermione spun around to see bright headlights racing towards here before tumbling through a series of flashbacks-_

 _…_

 _Draco sitting his jacket in the middle of a park, leaning against a tree and reading "Macbeth," oblivious to the world around him-_

 _…_

 _-in a small apartment kitchen, pots and pans simmering and smoking around him as he chopped vegetables and studied a recipe from a French cookbook, jazz tinkling in from the open doorway._

 _…_

 _-on a subway platform with Franny, dancing ridiculously along with a small crowd in front of a busker playing a hang drum, laughing-_

 _…_

 _-behind the wheel of a car, driving through the interstate in the middle of the night, Franny asleep in the passenger's seat, the windows down as he sang out loud to the radio, his long hair flying around him-_

 _…_

 _-paddling out into the ocean on a surfboard, ducking under a wave and coming up for breath behind it to find Franny already on the line-up, clapping and whopping at his success-_

 _…_

 _-sitting on a cliff face, a thermos in his hands as he watched the sun rise over the ocean-_

 _…_

 _-walking down a sidewalk in the middle of fall, pausing and then doubling back to leave his bag of groceries next to a sleeping homeless person before taking off his own jacket and tucking it around the man-_

 _…_

 _-with Franny sitting on a couch, watching a movie and laughing as they tossed popcorn at each other, trying to catch each kernel in their mouths-_

 _..._

 _-to iceskating at Rockefeller Center as fat snowflakes fell around them in a flurry-_

 _…_

 _-on a couch, a college textbook on physics on his lap as he sipped his tea-_

 _…_

 _-sitting on the front steps of the Museum of Natural History, a shawarma sandwich in his hand and a can of rootbeer next to him, watching the crowd around him go about their business, oblivious to his attentions-_

 _…_

 _-behind the counter of a soup kitchen, ladling helpings into the waiting bowls of the people in line, pushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead-_

 _…_

 _-to waking up with a start on a couch, sweating buckets, his eyes wild as they darted around the apartment. Franny emerged from a doorway, dressed in pajamas, a look of worry etched in her face as she strode across the room and enveloped him in a fierce hug, murmuring reassurances into his shoulder as she massaged his back. Draco slumped into her arms, panting, gripping the back of her shirt desperately._

 _"_ _My fault," he murmured. "All my fault."_

 _"_ _Shh," Franny hushed. "It's okay now. It was just a dream, D. You're okay now. You're okay."_

 _Their whispers faded around Hermione as the scene spun again and she was-_

 _…_

 _-standing in front of his apartment windows next to him. He had a mug of coffee in his hands as he watched rain pouring outside, his eyes as grey as the city outside-_

 _…_

 _-with Franny again, laughing as they ran through the Coney Island Boardwalk in the middle of a bright summer afternoon, stopping to massage the stitches in their sides. Hermione ran after them, watching as they ducked into a photobooth and emerged a few seconds later, wiping tears from their eyes as they continued to roughhouse-_

 _…_

 _-sitting at a diner, "H is for Hawk" open in front of him as he watched a family and their little boy laugh and tease each other over their meal. He called the waitress over, whispering something in her ear before passing her a couple of bills and packing his things to leave-_

 _…_

 _-at a skatepark, jumping off his board and sitting on the ledge of a pool as people skated around him, the contentment evident on his face-_

 _…_

And suddenly, Hermione was stumbling out of the pensieve and out of his memories, landing with a hard thunk onto her butt, graceless sprawled on the floor of his library. She gave a loud oomph, pressing a hand to her chest as she tried to get her bearings.

Draco was still sitting on his chair, looking amused at her graceless exit. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Have fun in my head, Granger?"

She scowled at him as propped her weight against the side of the desk to pick herself back up, needing something stable to keep her spinning head from throwing her back off balance. "That was it? But you didn't show me anything!"

He tutted. "Now, now, love. If that was _nothing_ then you weren't really paying attention."

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated for reasons that she couldn't explain. "You just showed me flashes of your life!" She collapsed into one of the antique chairs in front of the desk. "That was…that wasn't showing me how you've changed! That was just showing me how you spent your time in the muggle world! There was no big event that made you different, there was no secret to how you got over everything that happened!" she said bitterly.

"You wanted to see how the last four years changed me, didn't you?" he countered, impossibly calm in contrast to her frustration. "That was precisely what I showed you."

"No!" she yelled angrily, feeling cheated. "No," she repeated, lowering her tone and willing herself to calm down, clenching her fists into the fabric of her trousers. "You were supposed to show me what changed you, how you went from being a Death Eater to…to…"

"To someone who isn't who you expected," he finished for her, his tone flat. "I don't know what you expected, Granger. That was it. That was how I, as you so aptly put it, 'got over it'."

"But you just…you just lived." Hermione finally looked up to meet his eyes, desperately searching his face for a way to make sense of it all. She didn't understand, couldn't wrap her head around the fact that it hadn't been Franny or some big event that had changed the man sitting in front of her. He had spent his last four years much in the same way she had—except he had come out whole as compared to the tightly wound mess she considered herself on most days. How? How was that possible?

Draco seemed to read her mind as he walked around the desk and leaned against it, arms crossed as he regarded her. "There was no trick to it, Granger. I _lived_. I showed you everything I could. That was my life and how I want it to continue for the foreseeable future."

She gave an exasperated cry, her headache back in full force. "Give me time to think about this," she mumbled, cradling her head in her hands. After a few moments, she looked up to find that he was crouching in front of her, his hand reaching out to touch her arm. She watched him warily.

"I'm sorry, but we don't have the luxury of time. I know that it must have been a lot to take in and a lot to wrap your head around," he said kindly. "But I need to know if you're going to help me. If you're going to help _us_. I need to protect her, Granger. Wouldn't you do the same if you were in my position? If you had to keep Potter or Weasley safe?"

She leaned back into the chair, uncomfortable with his proximity and the warmth that was spreading through her at his touch. "That's low, Malfoy, and you know it."

He smirked, seemingly unperturbed by her pulling away from him. "Alright," he conceded. "So I'm not above a little manipulation to get what I want."

She scowled at him, but she knew it was nowhere near half as vicious as she wanted it to be. "Three months, you said?" she finally prompted. While she would need the next week to properly process everything that had happened, she knew that she couldn't stand idly by if someone was being threatened.

He nodded, looking at her solemnly. "Three months. No funny business, as you said."

With one last guarded look at him, she finally nodded. "Alright, Malfoy. You've got yourself a girlfriend."

* * *

 **A/N:** So what did you guys think? I had to restrain myself with the memories. There's so much more of that part that I want to tell, but I wanted to stick to the important parts, the little things that helped him. I'm considering writing a series of one-shots from Draco's time in the muggle world as a separate fic, so please let me know if any of you would be interested in reading something like that!

Also, not sure if the French I used was correct. I used Google Translate so I'm sure it sounds stiff, but it was the best I could do.

As always, please leave me a review and let me know how I'm doing! Thank you all! Til the next chapter!


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